


First and Only

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Roommates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Castiel, Autistic Castiel, Couch Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2019, Demiromantic Castiel, Demisexual Castiel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Dean, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Floor Sex, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frotting, Homeless Dean, Ice Skating, Illustrated, M/M, Making Out, Milkshakes, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Moving In Together, Non-Chronological, Onesies, Openly Bisexual Dean, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Displays of Affection, Romance, Smut, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Thief Dean, Virgin Castiel, Voyeur Castiel, Voyeurism, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 16:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Single bachelor Dean bets he can have sex more times within a calendar year than his happily-married brother. But when Castiel – Dean’s roommate, best friend, and total virgin – asks Dean to be his First, Dean’s plan to bed numerous strangers goes up in smoke. Over the weeks, then the months, Cas becomes his go-to guy. His “fuck buddy”, if you will. But that doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t feel right. Dean was Cas’ First, but now he wants to be Cas’ Only. Now he’s gotta figure out how the heck to court a guy he’s successfully wooed a hundred times already.





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Faith (aka bihuntersandgayangels) [is posted here](https://bihuntersandgayangels.tumblr.com/post/182999669385/art-for-first-and-only-by-almaasi)!! Please check it out and give it some love. ♥♥♥
> 
> Beta'd by [Kailey](https://iwouldvethoughtofabetterurl.tumblr.com) and [Al](https://wheniwrite28.tumblr.com). Special shoutout to [Mittens](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/), who also beta'd this for me, as well as ran the Dean/Cas Pinefest challenge this was written for!! Mittens is a good bean. She and I also [shared the same artist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761598) for this challenge, which is neat :D
> 
>  
> 
>  **ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs**  
>  No Cas/other (Cas is ace-spectrum demisexual). Lots of mentions of Dean/strangers, Dean having sex with other people while Cas is accidentally present. And less accidentally: Dean organising things so Cas happens to see him having sex with other people. Multiple (but not especially descriptive) mentions of abusive John Winchester (physical violence, abandonment, emotional abuse), resulting in Dean’s internalised homophobia and self-worth issues. Dean is homeless when he meets Cas (seen during a flashback; many years pass before they have a sexual relationship). Dean has a history of alcoholism, general addiction, and an unhealthy relationship with sex (although I guess that’s his personal opinion; the unhealthiness is why he turns to Cas instead). Specific sex acts listed in the tag box above! Both Dean and Cas top/bottom at some point. Also, a lot of junk food is eaten?
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is told out of chronological order, with flashbacks. It should be easy to follow, but just in case, I've used the scene dividers as visual reminders:  
> ◀ = in the past  
> ▶ = present day  
> ♥ = no change

  
   
   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

All problems, big or small, could be fixed with beer.

‘ _Could be_ ’ being the operative words.

Okay, past tense. All problems _could have been_ fixed with beer. By drinking it, specifically. Drinking a lot of it. Feeling all the feels, then feeling nothing at all.

Whenever Dean woke up – maybe in a bed, maybe on the sidewalk – the problem of the previous night seemed less of a problem. Mainly because his headache was a bigger problem. Or the jail cell he was in. Those were _real_ problems.

Those drunken times in Dean’s life were over. He made sure they were over. Everyone around him, his friends, they helped make The Beer Era seem like someone else’s life.

Now Dean lived in The Milkshake Era.

Now all problems, big or small, could be fixed with a pink dessert in tall, grooved glass, whipped cream and a cherry on top, a late night in a neon-lit diner, and a long talk with a close buddy.

Dean pinched his fingers around the curly straw, and took a drag on the strawberry delight. He swallowed, then sighed. “I got a problem,” he said.

Charlie snapped the cover back over the slushie machine, slung her dishcloth over her forearm, and came to lean on the bartop, hoodie sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “What sort of problem?” she asked.

In Dean’s right hand, he fiddled with a circular wooden talisman, engraved and painted with the words ‘ _SONNY’S HOME FOR BOYS_ ’ at the top, and ‘ _Good Little Boy: Most Caring_ ’ curved around the bottom.

“Uhm,” Dean said, running his thumb over the letters. “You know Cas.”

Charlie stared. “Is that a statement or a question? Yes, I know Cas. Iced mocha with a chocolate chip blend, peppermint syrup, rainbow sprinkles. Black coffee in the mornings.”

“Not his order, I mean—” Dean sighed. “You’re his friend. You know him. You know how we’ve lived in the same apartment for years. You know everything about him.”

“Again, statement or question?”

“Both. Neither.” Dean rested his forehead in his milkshake-chilled palm. “Look.” He wet his lips, avoiding Charlie’s gaze. “Off the record. I’m, uh. I’m having some serious feelings for him. Like. Like love. Or whatever. And—” He glanced up, curious to see what Charlie thought of that. She was smiling, so Dean relaxed, lowering his gaze again. “And basically I can’t – can’t figure out how to... convey my intentions to him.”

“Okay,” Charlie said.

“And I need your help.”

“Okay,” Charlie said again, her smile audible in her voice. “But I’m gonna need a little more to go on. What _are_ your intentions?”

Dean was immediately stumped. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“Question or statement?”

Charlie grinned, thwacking Dean with her dishtowel. “How did this even start, Dean?” she asked. “And _when_?”

“Oh...” Dean thought back. He nibbled his lower lip, then shrugged. “The bet. A bar. New Year’s Eve.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

**ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ᴀɢᴏ**

“Aaaaand how many times did you... you win a case this year?” Dean asked, his empty beer glass wavering near his brother’s shoulder.

“I dunno. Twelve?” Sam squinted. “Three hundred?”

“Ballpark,” Dean said, scratching his nose, then recoiling when he poked his own eye.

“More than four,” Sam said. “I dunno, I can’t remember. My brain’ssss gone swimming.”

Dean laughed, head down on the wooden table. “An’ h—” he hiccuped – “how many times. Did you poop!”

Sam chuckled and tipped his head all the way back, bumping against the leather seat in the bar’s corner booth. “Three hundred and sixty five.”

“Regular Joe, eh.”

“Yeah, the coffee helps.”

Dean snickered, lying his cheek on the table, one eye shut to peer closely at the puddle of split beer in front of his nose. “I’mma. Um. Hehehehe.”

“How many times did you drink beer?” Sam poked at his brother’s head.

Dean propped his chin on his hands. “Mm. More times I can count. But this month? Just tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“Impressive.”

Dean looked down, suddenly sad. “Yeah.” He frowned. “I think... I think I won’t anymore. Isss— Like, it’s fun? But. I did so well. And I dunno even know why I did tonight, y’know? I made it the whole month. I made it a whole month, Sammy. No beer. Maybe _beer_ is the prize for no beer.”

“Sur-PRIZE!” Sam chirped, then cackled. “Surprise hangover tomorrow.”

Dean groaned, headbutting the table again. “Don’t wannaaaa.”

Sam rested on a fist as he peered down at Dean. “How many times did you kiss someone?”

Dean shrugged. He looked up and asked Sam, “How many times you bang someone?”

Sam grinned. “More than you’d think. Marriage to Eileen comes with its perks.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t keep count,” Sam admitted. “But it was a lot.”

Dean sneered at how smug his kid brother looked, saying that. Being thirty years old and happily married made it easy for Sam to have a lot of sex with his wife, sure. But Dean himself was only thirty-four, and even in his drunken state, he refused to believe being thirty-four meant he was past his sexual prime.

“I bet I had more sex than you,” Dean said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Probably.” Dean looked down, thumbing the edge of the table. He knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t possible. He called himself a ladies’ man on his dating profile, but funnily enough, that didn’t seem to score him a lot of points with the ladies. Or the men, even.

That was why he’d staved off the beer, really. He could be sober and get laid, and wake up in a nice bed – or he could get drunk and wake up on tarmac.

In the last few years, he’d slowly discovered it wasn’t possible to go halfway. Tipsy wasn’t a thing for him. He wasn’t a lightweight – no way. The opposite, in fact. He could drink _anyone_ under the table. But therein lay the issue. After one drink, he wanted another. Nay, not _wanted_. He was compelled. Forced. _Required_. It just happened, he didn’t think about it. And at the end of the night he’d have a four-hundred-dollar tab left unpaid, wet pants, a foul-smelling shirt, and nobody else could look at him without either turning their nose up in disgust, or asking if he needed help.

Then, one confusing night occurred, a couple of months back. He’d had one drink, and that was all he remembered. And he woke up in someone’s bed.

The equation didn’t equate. Either he was drunk, or he got laid. Surely he couldn’t have done both in one night.

He was glad he couldn’t remember.

But that was the moment he swore to himself he wouldn’t drink any more.

Dean turned his empty beer glass upside-down, and shook his head. “I’mma bet you. Next year. Starting midnight.” He glanced at the bar’s blaring TV, showing the ball ready to drop in New York, city lights all around. “I bet I’m gonna have more sex than you do.”

“Okay?”

“And there’s rules.” Dean sat up, finger raised. “Only counts if I remember doing it. Which means I can’t drink. Gotta keep some kind of – somekind’ve memorabilia. Hair or panties or or-or-or something. A photo, somethin’.”

“But for me it’s just Eileen,” Sam said. “She’ll be bald by the end of the year if I take a hair every time.”

“Yeahyeahyeah, asshat, I know. But I’m a sexy single bachelor, a’right, I gotta have proof I bumped uglies with a bunch of people. I’m covering my ass, ‘kay, so you don’t come up at the end of the year and say, hey, doesn’t count. I’m gonna make it count. So suck it.”

“You suck it.”

“Better than you,” Dean agreed. He grinned when Sam laughed. Dean let his smile fade, and he nodded. “This is it. From this night on, not one more drink.”

“You always say that.”

“And that’s why I’m making this bet.” Dean met his brother’s hazel eyes, and said, with an intensity that both shook and steadied his voice: “I am not a weak-willed man, Sam. I like sex. And God help me, I _love_ beer. But something I love more than any of that, is one-upping my baby brother. So.” He nodded. “I get laid. I don’t drink. Because if I drink, I get drunk, I don’t remember, and then it doesn’t count.”

“I’m getting this in writing,” Sam the lawyer said, pulling a yellow legal pad and a fancy pen out of God-only-knew-where.

Dean eyed the TV, as the crowd on the screen and crowd in the bar began counting down. “ _Ten! Nine! Eight!_ ”

Sam scribbled his signature with force into the writing pad. He spun the pad around, and Dean took the pen.

“ _Seven! Six!_ ”

He didn’t need to read what Sam wrote. He trusted him.

“ _Five! Four!_ ”

He signed.

He held out his hand, and they shook.

“ _Three! Two! One!_ ”

Sam and Dean smiled at each other, drunk and smug and safe in each other’s company.

“Happy New Year,” Sam said.

“Happy New Year, little brother. May the horniest man win.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean knocked too hard on his own apartment door.

He leaned his forehead on the wood, eyes closed, groaning under his breath. A handful of confusing keys jangled in his fist, but they were all keys, and keys were keys, and there were too many keys.

He knocked on the door again. “Cas, open up, i’ss me.”

Castiel opened the door, and Dean fell inside, straight into Castiel’s strong arms. “Oof.”

Dean giggled, letting Cas straighten him up again. “Dean—” Castiel met Dean’s eyes. “ _Dean_.” Somehow he sounded so betrayed. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Sam had a beer. And I was like... I wanna beer. And he said noooo, and I said it’s okay! It’s alright, right? ‘Cause I made it a month. And I didn’t havenny. And so I can handle it right now! And he said noooo and I was like pfff that’s bullshit and I ordered a beer and had a little bit and it was niiiiice, Cas, it was real nice and Sam went to the bathroom, right, so— I chugged a few. And! And like it doesn’t matter, you know. I gotta take a piss. But like. Oh, Jesus Christ, was this room always _blue_?”

Castiel looked around at their living room. “No,” he said. “You and I painted this room, Dean. Last summer. We painted it dark blue.”

“Oh...” Dean peered into Castiel’s eyes, smiling as he held his shoulder. “Yeah. Blue. To match your eyes.”

“To match...?” Castiel tilted his head. “You said you wanted it blue because it was strong and manly.”

“Yyyeah but.” Dean sighed happily. “Pretty eyes.”

Castiel snorted. “Come on, you need to sober up. Can you get to the bathroom by yourself? I’m making you food. Sausage, egg. Go.”

Dean purred, stumbling away.

He came back a half-hour later, empty-stomached, pale-faced, freshly showered, and feeling very sorry for himself. He sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, his back to the living room, staring into nothing.

Castiel placed a steaming plate of food and a glass of water in front of him, then touched his wrist. “Look at me, Dean?” Dean looked at him. Castiel smiled, exhaling. “It’s okay,” he said. “Now you know. One drink is too many.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed, looking down, taking a fork in hand. “There’s something wrong with my brain.”

“Mm.” Castiel sat down on the other barstool, right beside Dean.

Dean tucked into his food, shoulders swaying. He cast a sidelong look towards his roommate. “You gonna watch me eat?”

“Yes.” Castiel spoke plainly and evenly, “I don’t trust that you won’t try and leave the apartment and break into someone else’s fridge looking for more beer.”

“The hell would I do that for.”

“You know why.” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s back. “I’m here for you, Dean. Whatever comes next.”

“We doin’ rehab?” Dean said in disgust.

“Not unless you make it necessary,” Castiel said. “Tonight you had your last drink. Yes or no?”

Dean looked at him, heart softening. He was glad to have someone looking out for him like that. “Yeah. Last drink.”

Castiel smiled. “Good.”

Dean smirked, spearing his sausage on the fork prongs, then lifting the thing to his lips. He suckled the end, giving a low moan. “Wanna hear about my resolutions for this year?” he asked, sausage still in his mouth.

Castiel flicked his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course.”

“Fuck every night.” Dean licked grease from his lips.

Castiel’s cheeks coloured. “Fuck— Who?”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t care. Anyone who’ll have me.”

“Oh.” Castiel pondered for a while, then said, “Is that all?”

Dean nodded. “No drinks, more sex. Easy math. You?”

Castiel smiled, chin lowering to his sternum. “I’m starting my own business.”

“Wha?”

“I’ve worked as a doula for long enough, I... I think I want to start instructing others,” Castiel said. “Begin my own service. A baby delivery service.”

“What, like storks?” Dean grinned.

“No, Dean, like a community of trained adults who are dedicated to helping mothers bring their newborns into the world.” Castiel hesitated, then smiled. “But, you know, that’s not a bad idea. Storks. That can be our mascot.”

“I thought _I_ was your mascot.”

“You’re my... muse.” Castiel held his own hands between his thighs, swinging slowly on the rotating barstool. “I’ve said before, I never would’ve completed my midwifery course without your support.”

Dean harrumphed.

“Genuinely, Dean,” Castiel said. “Meeting you, watching you get back on your feet – it taught me a lot about finishing what you start, and chasing aspirations.”

Dean looked at Castiel, thinking he remembered wrong. “Dude, I was homeless when we met.”

“Exactly,” Castiel said, with the kindest smile. “And the moment that problem was fixed, you went straight back to community college.”

Dean stopped eating, looking at Cas. “That taught you something?”

“Everything.” Castiel smiled, something glad and tender in his eyes. “Finish eating, Dean. Then I’ll help you into bed.”

“Rrrawh,” Dean purred.

“Oh, no,” Castiel chided. “You may plan to bed every man and woman from here to each coast and border of the country, but I am not one of those people.”

“So says you.”

“So say I.”

Castiel slipped off his stool, hand on Dean’s shoulder. He squeezed. “I wish you good luck with your endeavour, however. If you imagine such a goal would keep you from drinking, then... I commend that goal.”

“You okay with me slutting it up around this place?” Dean asked, catching Castiel’s eyes. “You never know, you might see me naked a few times.”

Castiel flustered, averting his eyes. “I. Um. If you must. I don’t mind.” He swallowed.

Dean took the last of his sausage, and placed it deep in his mouth. He slid out the fork, and let his tongue wet the rim of his lips.

Castiel watched.

Then he removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder, and looked away, blushing.

And that was January 1st.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

When Dean said he was gonna do something, he did it. Therefore Castiel’s look of surprise that night was completely unwarranted. Dean placed his palm over his roommate’s nose, shoving him in an attempt to wipe the expression away.

“Cas, meet Helga. Helga: Cas.”

“Ooh, he _is_ a cutie-patootie,” Helga declared in a low, melodious voice.

Castiel stared at the six-foot black woman who’d entered behind Dean, his attention as caught on her wild blonde tresses, satin mini-dress, and her seven-inch heels as Dean’s attention had been.

“H-Hello,” Castiel said, as Helga covered her breasts up, unashamed but not trying to be discreet.

“Sorry,” Dean said, winking at Cas. “We got started in the elevator up.”

“Right,” Castiel said. Helga stroked his bristly chin, and he leaned away from her touch. “Um. Have fun.”

“Oh, we are already,” Helga said, striding past Dean, running her manicured fingers through his hair. “Which way’s your room, Dean?”

Dean bit his lip, eyes still on Cas, enjoying how shocked he looked. “Uh. Right this way,” Dean said, stepping away, leading Helga across the living room and to the door on the left. “Go in and get comfortable.”

Dean paused before entering after her. He looked back at Cas, watching him close the apartment door.

Castiel paused like that. Hands on the door.

His shoulders lowered, like he sighed.

Dean wondered what it meant. But Helga called for him, and Dean faded into the privacy of darkness, closing his bedroom door behind him.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

That was how it started. And that was how it went on.

Dean did as he said. Over and over and over. Every night.

He always brought home his partners. Women. Latina women, Japanese women, freckle-faced redheads; chubby, curvy, petite, muscular; curly-haired, pigtailed, shaven. He had no obvious preference, besides everyone being around his own age.

Then came the men, after about a month. Their skin was black as coal or peachy as a summer orchard; their frames were lanky or large or lumbering, and Dean seemed equally attracted to all.

He’d bring them into the apartment. Show them the bathroom, offer them a snack, introduce them to Cas. They’d maybe have a brief conversation – and then, always, Dean would take his new friend to his bedroom and shut the door.

Sometimes they stayed overnight. Sometimes only a few hours.

Sometimes they did it once. Twice. Five times, one night, with one guy. Dean never saw that guy again, to his vocal dismay.

Dean didn’t think his habits disrupted the household, not really. Cas was free to go to work and come back. Even on days he worked late, or overnight, delivering a baby, Dean would keep to his room.

But Dean started to get bored with his bedroom. The ceiling was a dull thing to look at. The walls were plain. The sheets were so ordinary, and the more he had to wash them, the thinner they became, and the more he could feel the lumps in the mattress when someone ploughed him into it, or he had to kneel to sink into someone else.

So, on nights Cas was out, Dean made use of the couch. He figured... well, what Cas didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Dean cleaned up after. He wouldn’t wanna eat popcorn on someone else’s love-couch – ew – so he invested in a lot of cleaning wipes. He hired an upholstery-cleaning machine in an emergency, one time.

But then, one Saturday afternoon, as Dean and Castiel shared the couch to do their weekly watching of _Scooby Doo_ while trying new cereal brands, Castiel hit mute on the TV. He lifted something from the couch, pinched between his fingertips.

“What,” Dean said. “What is it?”

Castiel showed him. It was a long blue hair.

“Katrina,” Dean said without thinking. He cleared his throat, looking down into his chocolatey milk.

“You’ve had people out here,” Castiel said. “On the couch.”

“Yeahh... I mean... TV’s right here, so.”

“You watch cartoons with them?”

Dean met Castiel’s eyes. “Not... cartoons.”

Castiel seemed uncomfortable suddenly. “Oh.” He lay the hair down and wiped his fingers on his sweatpants.

“Is it weird for you?” Dean asked. “You want me to take this thing elsewhere? I can do motels if you—”

“No, no, Dean, you don’t need to—” Castiel shook his head. “I’m fine with it. It’s okay.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. “I can move it back to my room. No more couch.”

Castiel parted his lips with his tongue, hands rubbing together between his thighs. “Is...” His breath caught, then released. “Is it nice? Having sex on the couch?”

Dean rolled a shoulder. “More interesting than the bed? I can watch somethin’ sexy while we’re going at it, so that helps.”

Castiel considered that statement carefully. “It helps. Having sex on the couch gets closer to your goal of... having sex every night and beating your brother in the bet. Thereby it encourages you not to drink.”

“Yeah, if you wanna put it that way.”

Castiel drew a breath. “Okay. Okay, then. Have sex on the couch.”

“Really?”

Castiel nodded. “I want you to be sober.”

“O...kay. Awesome.”

Castiel smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. He unmuted the TV, and sank back into the couch cushions, watching Scooby building himself a skyscraper burger, then opening his mouth impossibly wide to eat it.

“I feel like that when I’m suckin’ dick, sometimes,” Dean joked, nudging Castiel’s knee.

Castiel chuckled. “At least it satisfies you, in the end. Even if it’s... tough, in the meantime.”

Dean looked at him, curious. “Yeah,” he said, an unsure note in the word. “Sure does.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Katrina’s blue hair was not the first item of evidence left behind, nor was it the last that Castiel found.

One evening, late in March, Castiel approached Dean while he was preparing to cook dinner, and asked, “Are these yours? I found them in the laundry, I wasn’t sure...”

Dean looked, and saw a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. “Oh... Naw, mine have a black band.”

“Are they mine?” Castiel wondered, holding them to his crotch, stretching them out. “No, they’re too wide.”

“Since when do you wear name-brand skivvies?” Dean laughed.

“Oh, is that what they are?” Castiel looked more carefully at the brand. “I thought they were second-hand, and you forgot to unstitch the name.”

Dean snorted. “Even when I was homeless, I bought new underwear, Cas.”

“So whose are these?” Castiel asked.

Dean bit his lip, thinking. “Paul? Oh, no, the Nigerian boxer with the glow-in-the-dark tats— Adami— Amandi! Him. Yeah. That guy.”

Castiel held the underwear up to himself again.

“What, you trying them on for size?” Dean grinned. “Face it, Cas, he was bigger than you in every direction. Besides, I need them for my evidence collection. I got a box going under my bed. Go shove ‘em in there. And – uh, wash your hands after.”

“All right.” Castiel folded the boxers. “What’s for dinner?”

“Mm, well, there’s basil and garlic and breadcrumbs going in the pan, I figured I’d dig around the freezer and find what else I can add. You want fish or meat?”

“There’s chicken,” Castiel said, unfolding the boxers to look at them again.

“What, you like the look of ‘em, or something, Cas? You could buy your own.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that.” Castiel held the underwear up to himself one last time, then scrunched them up. “It’s... kind of exciting to me.”

“You a panty-snatcher too?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Not at all,” Castiel frowned. “I just— I don’t know. You had sex with this man.” He wet his lips, shrugging. “And he wore this. You liked this. I— I don’t know.”

Perplexion flittered through Dean’s innards, twisting something. But Castiel had turned away, embarrassed. He took the Calvins with him, and returned to sorting laundry.

“Dean?”

Dean turned to look over his shoulder. “Yah?”

Castiel parted his lips. “What... What would I look like with blue hair?”

Dean laughed. “A fuckin’ sea creature, that’s what,” he said, turning back to the stove, then bending to find the chicken in the freezer. “You look good as you are, man. Dark and broody and blue-eyed as the sky in June.”

Castiel went quiet. But Dean was sure he smiled.

Then, after a few seconds, Dean heard Castiel mutter, “I’m a cutie-patootie.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

**ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴀʏ**

Charlie passed Dean another milkshake, this one sprinkled with edible glitter. “And?” she asked. “Why do you think he was doing that?”

“Doing what?” Dean asked.

Charlie chuckled. “Um? Obsessing over the people you slept with?”

“He wasn’t obsessing—”

“He remembered what the first girl called him,” Charlie said with a scoff. “Three months later.”

“Yeah? So? I remember it too.”

“And the blue hair? Katrina?”

“Loads of people have blue hair,” Dean said, shifting on his barstool. “C’mon. His barber was probably having his mid-life-crisis and pushing the wild ideas on everyone else. Or maybe Cas always wanted to dye his hair.”

“Right,” Charlie said in disbelief. “Explain what Cas said about the boxers, then.”

Dean licked whipped cream off the cherry from his milkshake. “What is there to explain? Cas was right, it _is_ kinda hot. I fucked a guy and he left his underwear behind for me to keep.”

“Hot for _you_ , maybe. But for Cas? He’s your _roommate_.”

“Well?” Dean shrugged. “Guy was a virgin, he was kind of curious about sex stuff.”

“So he enjoys random strangers’ underwear, imagining himself wearing it. And says, out loud, _explicitly_ , that he enjoys it because _you_ were sexually attracted to the person who wore them last.”

“God, what do you want me to say, Charlie? He thought it was hot. So what? He was probably just trying not to make it weird that it ended up in our laundry.”

Charlie sighed. “Sure.” She pulled on a curled red lock, pinging it out of her face. “So, go on.”

Dean inhaled, eyes drifting. He started to smile. “Oh, boy.”

“What?”

Dean scratched his stubbled jaw, feeling a burn in his cheeks. “This was where things... seriously started to change between us. I don’t really—” He huffed, one hand over his eyes.

After a moment taken to compose himself, Dean peered up at Charlie, who waited, a toothpick between her glossed lips, its point bouncing gently as she chewed the other end.

“One night,” Dean started. “I don’t know when. Spring. March, April, I dunno. I had a chick over... and she was lying on the couch. I was naked. Deep inside her. Kissin’ her. She was real soft, too. Warm. God, I remember this one so clearly, y’know?”

“‘This one’?! What was her name?”

“What?”

“Name. You remember everyone’s name.”

Dean waited for the name to fall from his lips, but all the escaped was air. “I don’t. I don’t remember.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped enough that the toothpick nearly fell. “Something really _was_ different about this time, huh.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean ran his hand over his lips. “Cas came home early. He’d just delivered a baby. It was, like, two in the morning. I know he was tired. He’d been out forty hours, texting to give me updates on his patient’s labour. Shit, he must’ve been dead on his feet. Maybe that was why.”

“Why...?”

“Why he— He came into the room. I heard the door shut. Heard him come close. Cas probably heard us moaning. The chick... she was... She was kind of holding me, curled against me. I don’t think she heard Cas. But I heard him. And then I saw him, heading for his room from the front door. You know our place is basically only one room, so he had to pass the couch. And I didn’t— I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop fucking this woman, Charlie. I just kept going. Going deep. Slow. God, it felt amazing all of a sudden. Suddenly it— It wasn’t just...”

Dean palmed his forehead, blessedly glad the diner was empty, and no other customers were around to hear him admit this.

“It wasn’t just mindless, unfocused sex any more,” Dean murmured. “Because Cas stood there. Right there, three feet from the couch. He froze up. But then he – he kind of relaxed. And he _watched_. And I— I held the girl’s head to my chest so she wouldn’t look up. So Cas wouldn’t see her face. And I remember— I looked up. Looked right at Cas.”

“No,” Charlie said in awe, grinning.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Looked him in the eye. And I— You know what, I smiled at him. ‘Cause it felt _amazing_. Finally. After three months I remembered what sex was meant to feel like. Electric. Electrified. Buzzing, all over. Glowing from the inside out. Hair on end.”

Charlie whistled, shaking her head.

“And...?” Dean grinned, gazing bashfully at the bartop, elbows on the black marble. “We just watched each other. God, I don’t know how long, don’t ask me to guess. Ten seconds. A minute. Five minutes. Dunno. But it was forever and it was immediate, and then I came.”

“You—”

“Came. Hard. Shut my eyes and moaned and folded forward into the girl, kept pushing, and pushing. And then I looked up, and... and he was gone.”

Dean swallowed, Cas’ absence still giving him an odd, empty feeling, even now.

“It gave me butterflies,” Dean said. “Intense like I’d never known them before. Just— Just looking at him. Having him watch me. And I know it was _me_ he was watching, not the girl. He only looked into my eyes, nowhere else.”

“Jeez.”

Dean smiled, taking his milkshake and sucking down another heartening sip from the curly straw. “And afterwards, I figured... I thought maybe I liked being _watched_. And why wouldn’t I think that, you know? Cas was just my roommate. My buddy. My pal. The other half of my Saturday-morning cartoon-and-cereal-review team.”

“And let me guess, you followed up that theory with some experimentation,” Charlie said, tossing her dishcloth to rest over her shoulder.

“‘Course!” Dean grinned. “Things were so normal with Cas, too. In the morning he joked about having ‘seen too many things’ and how he’s gonna move to Peru and become a celibate monk. But then he got all thoughtful and serious, and he straight-up asked me if had fun last night. And I said yes. What else would I say? I said yeah. And he nodded, and smiled, and went back to sipping his stupid black coffee.

“Then... the next girl I brought home, I kind of asked her to watch me while we did it. Maintain eye contact. But— It felt weird. Like, uncomfortable. Not one butterfly like there was with Cas. So I shut my eyes.

“The next guy – girl, I don’t remember – same thing. I know a couple people told me the aggressive staring was freaking them out. And honestly, even when I found someone who was into it – this hippie psychic chick, she sat down on the bed with me and we kinda... held hands, and spent fifteen minutes just looking into each other’s souls... Eh.” Dean pulled a face. “Was intimate, yeah. But me and her never even had sex. We ended up being pretty good friends. Pamela.”

“Double-shot espresso and a coffee donut,” Charlie said automatically.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, that Pamela.”

“So then what?”

“Then...” Dean exhaled, torso slumping forward against the milk bar, head lolling against his supportive hand. “Tried having a threesome. Answered one of those five-hundred Tinder messages asking for a three-way with a bi guy. I picked two married chicks. It’s logical, right? I wanna be watched. So two of us do it, and the other one watches.”

“And how’d that work out?”

“Hot,” Dean smirked. “We partnered up, then swapped. All of us got to watch each other go at it.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows, still waiting for the result.

“Nada.” Dean pressed his lips together. “Like, I realised there was a difference. On the one hand, there was me enjoying sex, having it release a shitton of feel-good hormones, feeling satiated after, feeling connected to someone even if I’m never gonna see them again. There’s that. And then, on the other hand, there’s... whatever I had with Cas. Seeing him, in the room, having his presence there. And _that_ was what I wanted. Not just eye contact with someone. Eye contact with _Cas_.”

“Oh?” Charlie sounded pleased, leaning forward for more.

Dean snorted. “Don’t look so hopeful. I skipped over the obvious conclusions. Didn’t even occur to me that I had real feelings for him.”

He subdued a smile, ready to explain: “I started having sex _only_ in places Cas would see. Would leave my bedroom door open. Would wait until he texted to say when he’d be home, and then I’d time the sex so I was moments away from coming before he opened the door. I wanted—” Dean’s hand covered his mouth of its own accord, but he forced it down. “I wanted to lock eyes with him. And then come while he watches. And fuck, Charlie, I didn’t know why. I can’t _believe_ I didn’t know why. I just thought it was hot. I go pleasure-seeking, you know? Getting off with Cas in the room gave me a rush, like a drug, like a drink – so I kept doing it, not even thinking about the damage I might cause.”

“Why didn’t you know your motive?” Charlie asked, confused. “Did you not want to think about how you really felt about your best-friend-slash-roommate, or did years of alcohol abuse kill all your brain cells?”

“I—?” Dean ran his hands back through his hair. “Bit of both. And in hindsight, I know what I was doing was gross, okay. He walked in on me with other people. I _performed_ for him. Over and over and over.” Dean shook his head, aghast at his past self. “I don’t know how many people I used... as _props_. God— No, I do know. I know _exactly_ how many people. Because I was keeping count. I kept score. A tally. A written and illustrated journal. And a box of prizes under my bed.”

Charlie looked away, then began making another milkshake.

“Yeah, I could use another,” Dean muttered.

“This one’s for me,” Charlie said. “I have an asshole for a friend.”

“Yeah.” Dean hung his head. “Yeah, I know.” He let out a long, despairing breath, then admitted, “Cas wasn’t lacking those brain cells. He figured out what I was doing, maybe before I did. But he waited for a better time to confront me. Some sunny Sunday afternoon, between him making calls, trying to get a slot at a prenatal yoga class, wantin’ to make a talk about his upstart business. Honestly, that whole afternoon is just burned into my brain. Because when he did corner me—”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Dean, are you okay?”

Dean looked up from editing his Tinder profile on his phone. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

Castiel swallowed. He watched Dean with gentle eyes, a small sigh escaping him. He glanced away, then sat down on the couch beside Dean.

“This,” Castiel said, “appears to be happening a lot. I’m seeing a lot more of your skin than I used to.”

Dean sucked his lower lip. “Oh... Yeah. Seems that way, don’t it.”

“Doors left open,” Castiel said. “Or I find you on the couch. Or the floor. Or... up against the wall. The _dining_ table, Dean.”

Dean huffed, embarrassed. “Yeah. Wow. Sounds kinda like a pattern when you put it like that.”

“This isn’t a series of exceedingly similar coincidences, is it? Me arriving when you’re almost done, regardless of the hour I return. None of it.”

Dean swallowed. He gave Cas a good, long look, both of them knowing he was guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“Don’t apologise.” Castiel lowered his eyes and gulped. “To everyone else, yes, perhaps you ought to. But not to me.”

“No?”

“No.” Castiel managed a half-smile. “The sight of you... The way you... Eh-everything...”

Though Cas completed not a single statement, Dean’s eyes began to widen. Castiel’s manner and his expression said everything: he’d enjoyed it. He was made unsettled by it, but he’d enjoyed it nonetheless.

“Oh,” Dean said.

“The sight of you having sex arouses me,” Castiel forced out. “And I want... I want to see you more. But not with other people. So,” he took a breath, then said, firmly: “Dean, I want you to be my First.”

“First—”

“First sexual experience with another person. First time. First kiss. All of it. I want it to be you.” Castiel’s fierce eye contact shocked Dean’s system like every nerve had become a live wire. “You’re the only person I trust that way.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Charlie snorted. “I.E. the only person he feels that way about.”

“What?” Dean smirked carelessly. “Nah. You really think so?”

“Um, yeah?” Charlie nearly laughed. “Come on, a guy in his mid-thirties, non-religious but still a virgin, despite being about as empathetic and conventionally attractive as a man can be? Believe me, he was a virgin on purpose. Anyway, Cas trusts _me_. I put ointment on his awkward rash that one time. But he wouldn’t ask me to bang him in a million years. Not unless we needed to repopulate the Earth, and even then I’d wonder.”

“But... you’re gay. You’re only attracted to women. You’re not attracted to Cas. Why would he ask _you_ for sex?”

“Exactly: he wouldn’t. So _something_ – that’s a sarcastic _something_ – something about your interactions made him realise you’re sexually attracted to him, and he began to feel more comfortable about wanting you. Face it, Dean, you’re the only person he feels that way about. Past, present, and probably future. You’re his lobster.”

“I’m his what?”

Charlie chuckled. “Just carry on, would you? I was supposed to close up shop already.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Dean?”

Dean took a second breath, trying to understand what Cas was saying.

“Dean,” Castiel said again, touching Dean’s arm.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Yeah, I— I need to think about it. I need to think about it. I don’t know.”

Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s arm, curling a fist. Softly, he said, “Okay.”

“It’s just— We’re friends. Best friends,” Dean flashed a grin, “and – andand it’s kind of a big deal. Sex. Between you and me.”

Castiel tilted his head. “You have sex with people you barely know.”

“Yeah.” Dean folded his arms, nervous. “That’s why it’s different. I know you, Cas. I’ve known you and lived with you and enjoyed your company for years. Sex changes things, y’know?”

“Makes people closer.”

“Sure, right, yeah – but.” Dean sucked his lips. “But I’m using people, Cas. I don’t connect with them right when I have sex with them. And I might be hurting them, or myself, doing what I do. And I don’t wanna hurt you like that, even by accident.”

Castiel’s breath stuttered. “Are you saying no?”

“No, that’s not it,” Dean assured him. “I’m saying... I need to think about it. I need time. I gotta... get my shit together. I’m not saying _yes_ , or maybe. I’m saying I might say no. Because this is a big deal, bud. You probably don’t get that right now, but it is. I’m doing sex wrong. What you’re seeing me do... it’s not the best example of intimacy, okay? It’s not what you deserve. It’s not...” He looked away, pained inside as he confessed, “It’s not something I enjoy.”

Castiel looked stunned. “Then why are you doing it?”

_Because I want you to look at me and I’m not sure how else to get your attention_ , Dean thought. He forced the thought down. _Because I’m trying to fill the void that alcohol used to fill. Because the void was a person who loved me, long ago._

“I don’t know.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	2. First

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Jamiel had blue eyes. Dean licked her until she came, muffling his ears with her dark thighs, dark warmth engulfing his senses, darkness and shadow and silence drowning out everything for those moments.

Arthur had brown hair and a stubbly jaw. Dean painted the other man’s semen down his chest, smiling, all the while squinting into the bright daylight behind Arthur’s head, trying to see someone else in his light-washed features.

Soon the people Dean met and bedded no longer had names. They had blue eyes. Spoke deeply. Wore a trenchcoat. Smelled like Cas’ favourite soap.

Dean told himself it was practice.

But it wasn’t practice, it was longing. Procrastination.

Fear.

Cas saw a few times, by accident. He didn’t watch like he used to. He glanced Dean’s way, then his jaw muscle flickered, and he disappeared into his own room and shut the door.

Dean didn’t try and make a scene. He satisfied his partners, then let them go on their way.

He realised after about two weeks that he hadn’t climaxed once. Not since the night Cas asked him to be his First. It was like Dean didn’t _want_ to be satisfied by anyone else. They were all pale imitations of the real thing. He let other people feast as he let himself go hungry.

Dean began to stay out all night. Went to motels. Went to other people’s apartments. Didn’t want to come home, didn’t want to see Cas look so upset. Didn’t want to tell him he couldn’t make a decision, couldn’t answer the question Castiel had been so brave to ask.

Was it worth it? Worth it, just for that silly bet?

No.

This wasn’t about the bet, not really. It hadn’t been about that for a long time.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean came home alone.

He shut the door, tossing the keys into the fishbowl on the kitchen counter.

Castiel looked up from the cookbook he was reading in the kitchen. “Oh,” he said curtly. “You’re back. Decided to grace me with your presence at long last, have you?”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, eyes down.

“I haven’t seen you in a week, Dean,” Castiel said, putting the cookbook down, folding his arms. “A _week_.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean’s whisper ached in his throat. “You deliver babies. I design ATMs. The world goes on.”

“So you’ve been at work,” Castiel said, catching Dean’s solemn eyes. “For a hundred-and-sixty-eight hours straight.”

Dean licked his lips. “No.”

“No.”

“Motels. One chick’s pull-out couch. Then her brother’s.” Dean shrugged, eyes turned away. He gnawed on nothing, wondering if he was gonna cry. His eyes welled just at the thought.

“Dean—”

Dean sobbed and rushed to rest his face on Castiel’s shoulder. He began to weep, and Castiel held him, hugging him, hushing him.

“Dean... Oh, Dean, what’s wrong? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Me,” Dean cried, almost laughing. “Me, I happened. I’m a fucking mess, Cas. I hate this. I can’t. I can’t any more. I wanna—” He gulped, pushing tears away with the backs of his hands. He exhaled and stood back. “Yes. I’m saying yes to you. I’ll be your First.”

“What?” Castiel looked distraught. “Dean, _no_ , are you out of your mind, what—”

Dean surged to kiss him, then fell back before either of them could process what he’d done. “Let’s do it. Tonight. I’m gonna wash up, okay, and you— You do whatever you need to do. I just... I’ve been fighting it. Okay? I’ve been fighting saying yes. I wanted to before you ever asked. I was wrong, Cas, thinking sex with you would be as meaningless and draining as it is with other people.” He touched Castiel’s cheek, smiling. “But that’s exactly why we gotta do this. Right now. I know – I _know_ it won’t be like that. Because it’s you. All right? I’m okay. I’m okay to do this. And I want to.”

“Dean...” Castiel cradled Dean’s wrist, thumb stroking him. “You’re too fragile.”

“No,” Dean said. He leaned in, eyes shut, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “I’m vulnerable. And that’s exactly how I should be for you. I wanna have a good time with my best friend. With everyone else, I’ve worked like a machine. Just trying to get a job done. But I want—” he pulled back, both hands grasping Castiel’s beautiful face, “you. I wanna let my guard down for once, Cas. I wanna be honest with someone. And... you’re the only one I trust that way.”

Castiel trembled. He seemed so glad to hear that, his gaze dark and glorious, eyes so close to Dean’s.

He shut his eyes and kissed Dean on the lips, exhaling.

Dean let himself be kissed. And then he kissed back.

Oh, that felt good.

He smiled as he sank away. “I gotta shower. I already ate. And I can smell the soap on you, so.” Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Gimme twenty minutes, alright?”

“Twenty minutes,” Castiel agreed. He was flushed, eyes ashine. “I’ll be waiting.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean left the bathroom wearing clean sweatpants, and a black tee under his favourite plaid shirt. He trod cautiously into the living room, but relaxed when he saw Castiel there on the couch. Castiel noticed him, dropped the magazine he was reading onto the fluffy white rug and stood in a rush. “Dean,” he breathed, smiling, eyes lit up. “Um. Do you— I wasn’t sure where we should do this—”

“Here. The couch.” Dean stepped into Castiel’s personal space, taking his waist under his hands. Castiel’s fretting ceased; he went still and silent, and they looked into each other’s eyes. “Yeah, I wanna make this special for you,” Dean explained. “But we don’t have to make it a big deal, alright? We do the deed, and then it’s done. It’s not a big thing.”

“It’s not,” Castiel repeated, but Dean wasn’t certain if he intended those words as a question or a confirmation.

“Naw,” Dean said easily, as his heart played jump-rope inside him. “Holding onto your V-card ain’t like the movies make it out to be, Cas. Say it’s like – riding a roller-coaster. Maybe people scoff if you say you’ve never ridden one, and they’ll tell you you’re missin’ out. Maybe they’ll say, hey, I don’t see the appeal, so you go have your fun and I’ll stay here on solid ground. Maybe certain people, they’ll ride a roller-coaster a few times a week, go outta their way to visit every theme park in every state. And they tell people about that, and someone’ll say, shucks, that’s too many roller-coasters, gotta be bad for the health. Or someone else will say they’re a lucky son of a gun. Right? But just ‘cause you never rode a roller-coaster before doesn’t mean you gotta throw a party when you do.” Dean shrugged. “We can keep this casual. So long as it’s fun and safe and it makes you feel good, it’s fine.”

Castiel stared, blinking twice. “Are you the roller-coaster in this instance?”

Dean gave a wonky grin. “You wanna take a ride?”

Castiel chuckled, mouth closed. He shut his eyes, resting his forehead against Dean’s. Dean blinked a few times, then shut his eyes too, letting go of a long breath.

“Are you nervous?” Castiel asked.

“Are you?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, bobbing Dean’s head as he did.

“Okay.” Dean kissed him gently. “That’s okay.”

“Aren’t you meant to tell me there’s nothing to worry about?”

Dean snorted. “Plenty to worry about. STDs. Bruises. Pulled muscles. Condoms, lube. What position we’re gonna do. Whether we can satisfy each other, whether we’re compatible. What if I fart? What if I need to pee halfway through? What if it’s just _awkward_? Worst of all, what if I hurt you? What if it’s not as good as you imagined? Sex is the ultimate Repercussion Roulette, Cas. It’s crazy.”

“I dread to think that somewhere in the world there’s a roller-coaster that could give someone an STD.”

“Drop the metaphor, Cas,” Dean grumbled, making Castiel laugh, then himself too. They nuzzled each other, holding hands. Dean bit his lip, swallowing. “Truth is, I’m fucking terrified, Cas.”

“Are you sure you want—”

“Yes.” Dean squeezed his eyes tight. “You?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded. He lifted his head, meeting Castiel’s eyes. They exhaled, still holding hands.

“Um,” Dean glanced at the couch. “Wanna try making out?”

“ _Try_?” Castiel said. “Can we fail?”

Dean laughed, tipping his head invitingly. “C’mon.”

They sat, the middle dip in the couch pushing their thighs together. Castiel stroked Dean’s hand with his thumb, watching that touch, then watching Dean lick his lips. Castiel’s lips parted, hooded gaze trained on Dean’s mouth...

He leaned in, and they kissed. Gently.

Cas was warm and sweet and kissed without hesitation, but his kisses were out of sync with Dean’s. So Dean let him lead, and lay the tip of his tongue upon his lip, giving Cas the sensation of licking without actual licking. And then Dean took over, and Castiel whimpered.

“A-ha, gotcha,” Dean grinned, voice low, vision blurred by the heat rising from Castiel’s cheeks. “You like when I lead.”

“Ih— It’s just exciting,” Castiel smiled, hand twitching in Dean’s. “Being kissed.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean uttered, glancing down between his thighs. He touched his growing bulge, but returned to kissing. Castiel moaned, surging closer, breathing hard, both hands taking Dean by the head, fingers spread through his hair.

He pressed Dean into the couch, lying atop him, knee lodged just under Dean’s ass. Dean cooed, and Cas murmured a happy note in response.

Their lips snapped apart, breaths gushing hot across their mouths. They gazed at each other, arousal growing intense, more intense than Dean thought possible for a little smooching. His forehead began to ache, and he realised how surprised he must look, eyebrows all the way up.

He relaxed, smirking. “You’re doin’ good,” Dean assured Castiel. “How are you feelin’?”

Castiel’s breath caught, and he bent his neck to look between their bodies. Rather than answering aloud, he arranged himself lower, pushing his erection onto Dean’s. A current shocked Dean, static under his skin, and he exhaled in a blast, immediately desperate. He nodded, gasping, taking Castiel’s nape in his palm and bringing him down to kiss again.

“Mm,” Castiel groaned, body going supple over Dean. He was so goddamn warm. And as he began to hump Dean, Dean began to twinge, zaps of pleasure hitting him with lightning force. Dean threw his head back over the couch arm and cried out, overwhelmed by how heightened his senses had become, how acutely he could smell Castiel’s _scent_ , the taste of him stinging in his mouth, how hot their bodies were and how well they fit together.

Cas wasn’t like other people. This wasn’t purely fun or sexy like with other people. This was _extraordinary_. Forget the roller-coaster – Cas was a fucking _launch pad_ , and sometime within the last thirty seconds, Dean realised they’d shot a rocket up into space.

“Caaaas,” Dean groaned, squirming into the couch, trying to get pressure exactly where he wanted it. “Auhhh...”

“Oh, my,” Castiel shuddered, breath gushing against Dean’s throat. “You’re saying my name.”

“And?” Dean smiled.

“I like it,” came the desperate response. “Ohh, Dean, I really like it.”

“Okay ccoooohaaaaaahhh—”

Castiel laughed, nuzzling Dean. “Let’s be naked now. Take all our clothes off.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean agreed, nodding as he sat up. “Quick. Quick-quick-quick. Shit.” He started with his sweatpants, gnawing his bottom lip as he forced the band over his straining erection. “Fuck. So hard. Shhh.” He shoved his pants down and kicked them onto the rug, then yanked his plaid shirt off, one arm at a time. He cast that onto the rug too, then stood up, t-shirt off, boxers down. He turned in time to see Castiel hopping barefoot, pulling off his second sock.

They grinned and fell back together, moaning, bare stomachs smacking, bumping. They rolled back to where they’d been, Cas on top again, frotting into Dean like his life depended on it.

“Yes,” Castiel grunted. “Yes, yes. Oh—” He took Dean’s head in his hand, kissing him deeply, exhaling what felt like fire across his cheeks. “Hmmm.”

Dean lifted his legs, resting one foot on the back of the couch, the other thigh hugging Cas’ ass. Smooth under his heel. Muscular. God, that was a nice ass.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. “Ahh—!”

“Are you still terrified?” Castiel asked, his voice too fucking deep for Dean to handle.

Dean held that blue gaze, pulse thumping on every inch of his skin. “Are you?”

“I think,” Castiel said, a twinkle of gladness in his eyes, pushing against Dean again, “when you’re with the right person... fear disappears.”

Dean pushed up a smile, his terror doubling. He disagreed. Shit, if Cas was right, Dean was with the wrong person right now. But he couldn’t comprehend how that could be true. The possibility scared him. Alternately, he was with the right person right now and he was scared anyway. Which meant he was broken. And that scared him too.

So he couldn’t answer Cas’ question, because no matter what he said, he’d either lie, or ruin his best friend’s fearless experience. So he held Cas tighter and let the pleasure rush through him, slamming his body with waves of light and electricity, hoping it would chase out the fear. He curled his toes, gasping, burning up from the inside out.

Castiel began to kiss Dean’s neck, and Dean giggled, tickled by Cas’ stubble. He lay his head back, and purred, then laughed, then bit his lip and groaned.

They began to slow down.

And that was okay.

Actually, that felt better. Dean sighed, gratified by the languid push of Cas’ erection against his own. Castiel’s weight was calming. His kisses were soft. His eye contact filled Dean up with delight, and they smiled at each other, watching each other, holding each other’s gaze.

They continued in silence, happy like that for a long time.

Ten minutes. Ten slow, beautiful minutes.

Then Castiel said, “You’re not scared anymore.”

Dean parted his lips, realising it was true. He grinned, relieved beyond belief. He turned his head and chuckled, and accepted Castiel’s kisses when they began again. Cheek, chin, lips. They kissed, and they moved slowly.

Did that mean Cas was the right person?

The fear returned with the thought, so Dean decided not to think about it.

With a purr, Castiel took Dean by the waist and rolled them over – clearly forgetting that the edge of the couch was right beside them. They both yelped, collapsing hard onto the fluffy white rug. Castiel lay dazed and winded for a moment, but Dean was the first to snicker. Then he chuckled. Then guffawed, and laughed so damn hard he headbutted Cas, who’d begun to make embarrassed, apologetic noises.

“Zip it,” Dean told him with a huge grin, pecking his friend’s lips. “Every roller-coaster has its ups and downs, buddy. Sometimes more, uh, _sudden drops_ than you expect. What would it be without them, huh?”

“A train ride,” Castiel supposed, making Dean laugh again.

“God,” Dean uttered, smooching Cas, thinking warm, fuzzy, affectionate thoughts. “Mm.”

After a little more hip-nudging and rug-squirming, Castiel hummed. “Dean, I want... I— I want—?”

“You wanna come?” Dean gathered from Castiel’s desperate, pleading expression. Castiel nodded frantically, and Dean chuckled. “A’right. Alright, let’s go. What’s your method of choice? We could keep pushin’ like this. Orrrr I could do hands?” Dean leaned his lips close to kiss Cas’ cheek and whispered, prickling in his ear, “Could suck you off, if you want.”

“Oh...” Castiel’s sound came out fragile, a weak hand touching Dean’s chest. He shook his head. “Oh, I’m not ready. I’m not ready for that. Just— Fast. Please. And gentle.”

“‘Kay,” Dean promised, holding Castiel’s eyes as he slid a hand between their hips, palm down. “Fast and gentle, he we go.”

Cas’ erection was thrilling to have in his hand. Thick, hot, wet. Okay, it was a dick, and a dick was a dick, they were generally similar, given how many Dean had played with. But as special as a dick could be, this one was the most special. Because it belonged to Cas. Imagine that. He’d had this thing in his pants the whole time Dean had known him and he only met it today.

It liked Dean’s hand. It slobbered on him like an eager dog, flopping its weight like a free-standing punching bag, always returning to upright as Dean stroked. But it was neither a dog nor a piece of sporting equipment. Like most dicks, it seemed to have a mind of its own, sure, but Dean knew as well as anyone that whatever he did down _here_ showed up _there_ , on Cas’ face. A scoreboard. A lip-bite was good. A gasp was better. A trembling, guttural drone of sound, complete with a back-clinging hand and a tense pair of thighs – that was the winner.

Dean grinned – but the grin faded. Cas wasn’t a scoreboard. His dick wasn’t a thing, or an animal. Cas was a _person_ , with _feelings_.

“Whoa.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Castiel breathed, dizzy-eyed and pink-cheeked.

Dean looked at Castiel, aghast. “I have a _really_ unhealthy relationship with sex.”

Castiel cocked his head.

Dean shook his own head, snuggling closer to Cas, watching his eyes, but not his hand, nor anything else. “Look at me, Cas,” Dean told him. “I need you to keep eye contact, okay? Don’t look away.”

“Okay.”

Dean kissed Cas softly, nosing his lips after.

From then on, they didn’t so much as glance away from each other. Not once. Dean’s skin buzzed with warmth all over – not only because of how good this felt, but because his usual disconnection was absent and he knew it. Castiel blinked, and gasped, and shuddered, but his gaze remained dark, his hands clinging, his cries quiet and blissful. He watched Dean like they were each other’s last salvation, the only hope of survival in an empty, chaotic world.

Maybe they were.

Maybe they fucking were.

Castiel came with a short shout, shock alight in his eyes for a split-second. He soon relaxed, breaths sliding easily through his narrowed lips. Dean smiled at him, satisfied by his pleasure.

God, it felt good to actually care. To actually feel something. To want something more than the prize someone left behind when they were done.

With Cas, this was the prize. _Being_ with him. Being present in the moment.

Dean climaxed shortly after. And it wasn’t a big deal. It was like finishing the roller-coaster, pulling up to the platform, and climbing off. The movements of the ride echoed inside him, his body still whirling and doing loop-de-loops. But the sensations faded, and he was left grinning, happy, and wanting to go again straight away. Or at least thinking he oughta invest in a weekend pass.

He and Cas rolled further out onto the fluffy rug, hands on each other’s faces as they kissed. They smiled, and cuddled a little, and let out small laughs and fluttery grins.

The way Cas looked at Dean now surely should’ve struck horror into his soul. He looked at him differently now. No, this wasn’t a man still pushing down jealousy for Dean’s partners, or filled up with excitement and fear for a new experience with an old friend. This wasn’t even an innocent man who’d learned a few things, and craved another lesson.

This was a man who’d gotten what he wanted, and was satisfied.

Of all the things that should’ve scared Dean, that was the worst of them. Because he needed Cas to want him again, or he could very likely become – oh so appropriately – the train going off the rails. But Cas was done. He only wanted Dean to be his First, and now he had been.

And yet Dean was not afraid. He was... glad.

Why? Because Cas was happy. And that felt _fucking amazing_.

Castiel gave a big, exhausted sigh, sitting up. “That was nice.”

“It was, wasn’t it,” Dean agreed, grinning, confident hands locked behind his head. “Was awesome.”

“I suspect,” Castiel said, stretching his long, beautiful legs out, bare toes sinking into the shag pile, “I need a very long, very soapy shower.”

“Mm.” Dean reached out a hand to stroke Castiel’s lower back. Hot skin. Smooth. Such a nice spine.

Castiel groaned in a careless sort of way, arching back to lie on Dean’s palm, atop the rug, relaxed, arm over his head. Oh, Lord have mercy, that was the single most attractive thing Dean had ever seen someone do. The casualness of it. Dean fucked his _best friend_ on the _rug_ and now Cas was lying here just _basking_ in how he felt, gloriously naked, dick gone soft, chest still covered in his own spunk. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Castiel turned his head, gazing at Dean though his dark lashes. He was so handsome. So unbelievably gorgeous. Dean couldn’t bear never seeing him like this again. Quickly, quickly, he needed to take it all in. Every detail of Cas’ sex-flushed face, every brown freckle on his tan skin, every wrinkle of his nipples, the way his chest hair swirled.

Castiel’s voice was slow and dark, but laced with a smile as he asked, “Are you studying me?”

“Maybe. Just in case I die tomorrow and God and all his angels stage a pop quiz,” Dean said, running his thumb over Castiel’s nipple. It rose to a point under his touch. “I’d hate to get anythin’ less than an A.”

“What subject would that be, pray?” Castiel’s eyes shone with amusement, crinkles beside them.

Dean grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Caring.”

Castiel tilted his head, intrigued by that. “I recall a certain talisman of yours. _Good little boy. Most caring._ ”

Dean inhaled, eyes turning to the ceiling. “Yeah. Well. Sometimes we lose our way, don’t we? We’re meant to be something, do something, and we end up being and doing the exact opposite. Excusing more and more of our actions. Claiming we’re still the person we were before. Thinking, nah, it’s not possible we changed.”

When he looked back to Castiel, Cas’ eyes shifted under half-closed lids, unfocused. He thought for a while. Then he shut his eyes, chin tipping to his chest. He glanced at Dean, offering an assuring smile. “I hope,” he said, “you’ll find me _most reliable_. Especially in times to come. If there’s anything you need from me, Dean, anything you need to talk about – if I can give you what you need, I will. And if I can’t, I’ll find someone who can.”

“We talking therapy, now?”

Castiel rolled over and gave Dean a kiss. “I’m talking anything.” He said it so seriously, too.

He folded back and stood up, towering naked over Dean. He bent his elegant form and lifted up Dean’s plaid shirt from the rug.

“Thief,” Dean said, as Castiel put the shirt on. But as Castiel did up the buttons, Dean started to grin. He sat up, ogling his friend shamelessly. “Holy shit,” he said, relishing how the purple shirttail loosely hugged the curve of Cas’ ass, and the points of fabric either side of the buttons hung open around his junk. Castiel did the buttons up as far as his sternum, then tugged the shirt down. He twisted this way and that, trying to see how he looked.

“Ow- _ow_!” Dean howled, resting back on his hands. “Givin’ me third-degree burns from how hot you look in that, Cas.”

Castiel flushed. “Is that good?”

“Oh my _God_ , yes. Borrow my clothes. Take them all. Take them and don’t give them back.” Dean got to his feet, grasping Cas by both biceps, looking at his body in awe. “Shit.”

“My eyes are up here,” Castiel said cooly, and Dean laughed, leaning to kiss him – once, then twice.

The third kiss was longer. He breathed out and tried to pull away, but wanted one more.

Four.

Five.

One extra.

And another.

Dean didn’t want to stop.

Castiel nuzzled Dean, tickling his stomach with clever fingers, and they both fell apart, chuckling, bright-eyed. Dean swiped for Castiel and Cas darted away, twisting, so Dean leapt upon him, pushing him onto the couch. He climbed on top, growling playfully, grinning against Castiel’s neck as he nibbled him. Castiel laughed like a kid, giggling, squirming away from Dean’s prickly kisses.

They fell onto the rug again, arms around each other, still giving chortles of delight.

Their eyes met fully, and completely.

So it arrived: the greatest but most painful moment of Dean’s life. He realised Cas was his favourite person in the entire world, cared for in equal measure but in a completely different way to his brother. Here Cas lay, in Dean’s arms, wearing his clothes, and his semen, and a smile. But moments could only ever be fleeting; that was why they were called moments.

Dean sat back, careful to keep his smile so Castiel wouldn’t see his heart breaking.

Oh, yeah, he had a heart. There it was. Hurting again.

Castiel undid Dean’s shirt, thanking him for letting him try it on. “The women always wear them in the movies after they have sex with someone,” he said. “They always look so comfortable.”

“And what’s the verdict?”

Castiel just kissed Dean, chaste, eyes closed.

It lasted a long time.

A _long_ time.

Castiel pulled away and stood up in the same moment, leaving behind Dean’s shirt and that broken heart he knew nothing about. He headed for the bathroom and didn’t look back.

When the bathroom door shut and locked, Dean sat back against the couch, ass on the rug, naked and aching and feeling too many emotions to name. He rested his head in a hand, staring at nothing.

How could one act with one man mend and break him so easily?

Dean knew full-well he’d been renewed, not used. And yet he still felt like a thing, not a person. An object. A little Lego house. Made for a purpose, a game, then knocked back down.

What was he meant to be, now? A pile of rubble, perhaps. Plastic rubble.

He hated the thought that he’d made anyone else feel this way. What if he’d been _their_ last salvation, and he only hurt them by seeing sex with them as the goalpost?

Cas wanted Dean for sex.

He got it.

And now he was done. With no explicit promise for more.

Dean shattered, and began to cry, sobbing into his hands. Cas wouldn’t hear from the shower. Nobody would see. So Dean cried, and cried, and cried.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Charlie noticed when Dean went quiet for a while. He watched the last bubbles popping at the bottom of his milkshake glass. Though his fingers dragged the end of his straw through them, he didn’t bend to sip up that last little bit.

Charlie turned off the lights behind the bar, leaving only the neon circles fastened to the brick wall at her back. The moon outside was bright enough that they didn’t need anything else.

She watched Dean, then finished for him: “Cas offered you ‘anything’. But you didn’t think ‘anything’ included love, did you?”

“Who would?” Dean muttered. “I thought he meant, like, he’d do my laundry if I needed an evening off.”

Dean drew a deep, refreshing breath, and finally began to speak again: “What we did, me and him, it was just a one-time-event. It seemed like one of those... unspoken agreements. I only ever spent one night with anyone. Maybe Cas assumed that was how I did things. Maybe I was too stuck in that pattern to consider the possibility of anything else. But either way, weeks passed, and neither of us even _mentioned_ what we’d done again. Life went on.

“I went back to sleeping with other people. But it was different this time,” Dean frowned, as if perplexed about that fact. “Sure, it was healthier – I made an effort again. Learned their names. Made sure they went home smiling. But it was still business for me, making sure every sex act counted towards my year’s total so the effort wasn’t wasted. I was at about a-hundred-and-ninety, two-hundred. Halfway through the year.

“I figured the summer heat changed things. Maybe it was too hot to bother. Because things felt weird now.”

“How so?” Charlie asked, lifting the bartop, stepping underneath and lowering it again behind her. She sat beside Dean, sneakers hooked over the metal rung on her barstool.

“Well,” Dean said. “I kind of... didn’t... _want_ to have sex with other people.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows, amused. “Oh?”

“Freaky, huh,” Dean murmured, scratching the back of his neck. “For the first half of the year, I had one person a night. Then, after Cas, it was... one every couple of days. And I wouldn’t let Cas see, not like I did before. I scheduled meetups when I knew Cas _wouldn’t_ be there.”

“The opposite of before.”

“Yeah. But... after the end of two weeks...?” Dean shrugged. “Nobody. For about four days. Going on five. I kept thinking, well, I just haven’t found anyone interesting. I’m not in the mood. I probably burned out, right? Gotta recharge. After work, I’d usually hit the bar, but now I just wanted to head home.”

“Home... to Cas,” Charlie smiled.

Dean smiled too, though it was shy and fleeting. “Yeah. To Cas. I’d realised... ugh, I guess it’s obvious now. But sex felt better with someone I was close to, personally. Plus, felt real exciting to touch my best _friend_ like that, you know what I mean? Kinda like I shouldn’t. A social no-no. But the dirty feeling made it hot. And honestly, the fact I even thought of emotional connection to an actual human as ‘dirty’ and ‘wrong’ just made me even more aware how much I needed Cas, just to turn that feeling on its head. So... I took some time. Just for myself, away from sex and porn and that goddamn bet.”

“How long?”

“Uh, about a week? Not that long. But it was long enough for me to come to another obvious conclusion: I wanted to ask Cas to be with me again. ‘Cause maybe he would, y’know? He never actually said he wouldn’t, or didn’t want to. We just never discussed it. Yeah, I know I had a meltdown over nothing – I was _vulnerable_ , okay?”

Charlie grinned as Dean rolled his eyes.

“So,” Dean went on, “I was waiting, trying to figure out the right time to ask. And then – suddenly, everything broke. Just flipped overnight. I lost it at work. I had a task to finish, this massive project to get off the ground – literally; it needed to attach to the roof – I was leading a team—”

“This was the ice rink scoreboard,” Charlie said.

“That fucking ice rink scoreboard,” Dean snarled. “Worse than working gas pumps.”

“When you filled tanks at the truck stop, or when you designed the pumps?”

“Both combined,” Dean uttered. “Mechanical blueprints started looking like... incomprehensible scribbles. God, I snapped. I yelled at some poor intern, said he was incompetent. Talk about projecting my insecurities. But, man. My co-workers caught me, they told me to take a chill pill and take the day off. I mean, I argued. But I went home.”

The pained frown on Dean’s face started to melt away, and he began to smile. That soft, loving look only meant one thing.

“Cas was home.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	3. Easy Tiger

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean shut the front door gently, and went to toss his keys. “Caaas?” he called. “I’m home.”

Castiel leaned out of his bedroom door. “ _Dean_? You’re back early! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hey, bud.” Dean paused, halfway through taking off his jacket. “Wait, is that— Are you wearing a _onesie_?”

Castiel glanced down at himself, then sheepishly exited his room. “No,” he said.

“Looks like a onesie to me.”

“It’s a panda costume,” Castiel said, folding his arms and frowning. “I don’t have the ears on yet.”

Dean laughed, mouth open, eyes stuck on his friend as he crossed the room. “Is this what you do when _I’m_ outta the house? Dude.” He took Cas by his elbows, looking him over. The onesie was a nice, soft jersey material, black all over except for the white bib at the front, descending to Cas’ crotch. “Don’t tell me: there’s a tail.”

Castiel beamed, pink-cheeked, and turned to let Dean see.

Dean folded forward, laughing, hands on Cas’ waist. “Oh my God. Oh my _God_. Please, _please_ tell me there’s sexy lingerie under this, Cas.”

Castiel looked curious. “No, why?”

“Ahh,” Dean shrugged. “At least then it would make _sense_ that you never showed me this.”

Castiel lifted a shoulder, looking bashful. “I thought you’d laugh.”

“As anyone would, Cas, seeing a grown man in a panda onesie.”

Castiel didn’t seem amused.

Dean drew himself together. “Sorry. Sorry. Cute outfit?”

Castiel pressed his lips together. “Thank you.”

Dean kept staring, taking the zipper on Cas’ chest and pulling it down a few inches, then back up. Cas was bare underneath. Dean hummed, both surprised and delighted.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “I thought you had work until eight. Why are you home early?”

Dean’s smile vanished, and he let his hand drop to his side, squeezing a fist. He slipped his tongue over tightly-pressed lips, trying not to grit his teeth.

“A bad day,” Castiel said, reading Dean’s expression. “Oh, a _very_ bad day.”

“It’s fine,” Dean bowed his head, scowling. “I just— I gotta relax a little. Figured I’d eat my weight in tacos and pass out in a hot bubble bath.”

“That sounds adequate,” Castiel said, “but I think you can do better.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. If I was still drinking I’d do better.”

“No.” Castiel took Dean’s jaw in his warm, laundry-scented hand. “Take a shower, yes. Right now. But then come and see me. I know exactly what will help.”

Dean’s stomach fluttered with hope, but he dared not ask questions yet. He simply nodded, and floated away to get a clean towel.

He returned in ten minutes, freshly-washed, leaning on the frame of Castiel’s open door. “So what’s the big idea?” he asked, peering into the dim room, where the blinds were drawn, the dresser drawers were all open, and Castiel sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed, holding up an item of clothing. “I’m still not ruling out the tacos, Cas.”

“Put this on,” Castiel said, getting up, padding forward in his panda-paw socks, offering Dean what looked suspiciously like a tiger onesie.

“Okay, who sprinkled fairy dust in your lunch, Cas?” Dean waved a hand at the proffered fabric. “You’re crazy, I’m not wearing that.”

“Put it on,” Castiel demanded. “There’s a hood.”

“Cas, I’m not gonna—”

“ _Now_ , Dean.” Castiel placed the thing in Dean’s hands, his eyes calm, his voice firm but somehow still kind. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Dean let out a strained sigh. “ _Swear_ to me you won’t take photos.”

“I swear,” Castiel said, smiling. He turned Dean around by his shoulders, and sent him on his way.

Dean dressed in his room, reluctantly. But he pulled up the zipper, and suddenly, he understood the appeal. “Oh,” he said.

He opened his door, and found Cas out there waiting for him. Cas turned to look, and he smiled a smile like no other Dean had ever seen. It warmed him better than the jersey material, and lit up his world brighter than the sun.

“Don’t you feel more relaxed now?” Castiel asked, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him into the living room.

“Yeeeeah, okay,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and trying desperately not to smile. “Maybe it is... comfy.”

“And cute,” Castiel said. “Very cute.”

Dean grunted, looking down at himself. There was something about the proportions, the baggy crotch and thick, short legs that made him look kind of adorable. Cartoonish, sure. But as Cas reached to lift Dean’s hood, he was thereby snuggled in softness, and the most intense of cozy feelings overtook him.

“There,” Castiel said, looking at Dean with the sweetest, bluest eyes in existence, too adorable to process. He drew a slow breath, his smile shining in his eyes. He glanced to Dean’s lips, still inhaling. Then he shut his eyes and kissed Dean.

Just gently.

Dean was immediately too hot, his hands weak, knees a moment from buckling. He whimpered as Cas pulled away, chasing the retreating kiss by an inch. His eyes remained closed, but as Dean peeked out, he saw Cas gazing back, far too much affection in his stare.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. He quickly let go of Dean’s shoulders, and his hood, and stepped back, about to turn away.

“Wait.” Dean grabbed his hand. “Wait. What if—?” He trembled from head to toe, anticipation taking him over. “C-Could we—?”

The costernation in Cas’ expression melted away, and he seemed pliant and agreeable again. “Say what you want, Dean.”

Dean wet his lips, stepping into Cas’ warmth. He held his hand, summoning the words he wanted to use. “What if,” he said again, “you and me, we... try it again. Like we did before.”

“You want to be intimate again,” Castiel finished, in a voice just a little deeper than normal.

“Just because— Y’know, I’m stressed. And sex is really great for relaxation, and, like, you’re here, and I’m here, and—”

Castiel shut Dean up with a kiss. “If that’s what you need, Dean.”

Dean nodded, holding Cas’ eyes. “Uh-huh. To relax.”

“To relax,” Castiel repeated, amused. “Yes. In that case...” He let go of Dean, and stepped towards his bedroom. “Come this way.”

Dean followed him.

He’d been into Cas’ room a few times, to bring Cas soup on a sick day, to borrow books, to return mixed-up laundry, or to find Cas’ phone when the guy was busy cooking and couldn’t remember the recipe he’d Googled before. But Dean had never been invited in for this. Nobody had.

Castiel went to a drawer in his dresser, and began pulling out candles. Three, four – seven, ten.

“Got enough fire hazards there, pal?” Dean grinned.

“Be quiet and take these over there, put them on the nightstand,” Castiel said. He handed Dean three of the ten, then began lighting the rest with a stick lighter.

Dean sat on the bed, watching his panda friend turn the room from a dim navy cave into a majestic boudoir of magical wonders. Now the walls flickered with gold. As Cas pushed the door to rest closed, the space began to smell ever-so-subtly perfumed.

Soon Castiel stood before Dean, taking his head in both hands. They looked at each other for a while, panda and tiger.

Then Castiel pushed Dean’s hood back, and bent to kiss him. Man and man.

Dean couldn’t help feeling tense, despite Cas’ best efforts. He loved being kissed like this, and being swaddled like this, and eased into the bed like this, but it was gonna take a lot more than a make-out session to calm him.

“Lie with me.” Castiel rolled into the middle of the made-up bed, arms open to receive Dean’s embrace.

Dean lay with him, and felt himself hugged. Castiel kissed his forehead, then his nose.

“What happened today?” Castiel asked.

Dean pouted. “Ugh. I flipped my lid. Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Do you know why it happened?”

Dean looked up at Cas, worried, then apologetic. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay. Maybe later.” Castiel gave Dean another kiss.

“No—” Dean broke away to explain, “it happened _because_ I don’t wanna talk about it. I never wanna _talk_ about my crap. And I should. Right? I should... express my feelings, and shit. Not squish ‘em all down and hope they go away.”

“What feelings?” Castiel asked, stroking Dean’s hair from his forehead.

Dean shrugged. His first instinct was to speak, but his trained reaction kept his throat tight. Specifically for the sake of moving past this goddamn _ache_ , he forced that resistance away, and expelled his confession in a hard breath: “I want you, and the thought of not having you fucks me up in more ways than you can imagine.”

“Me?”

“You.” Dean surged to kiss him.

They began to grunt, clutching each other, holding tighter, kissing harder. Dean knelt with his legs apart around Cas, hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the soft material.

Castiel gasped for air, huffing a few times, eyes locked to Dean’s, bathed in flickering shadows. They studied each other for a long moment.

Dean gulped. And he began unzipping Cas' onesize.

Cas parted his legs, and let Dean pull out his semi-erection from the onesie’s opening.

Dean kissed Cas, and tugged on his erection, and kept his body close enough to snuggle.

“Mm,” Castiel murmured, as Dean hit a good rhythm. “Ah-hh, Dean. Unh—”

“Relax,” Dean whispered.

“I thought... I was supposed to... say that to you.”

Dean grinned, a glint in his eye. “I like makin’ you go all squirmy.”

Castiel chuckled. His breath had began to shudder, his hips working in tiny, eager motions, pushing his cock into Dean’s fist. They shared heat, and air, and lengthy stares that were broken only in moments where Cas would cry out, eyes shut, head pushing back into his duvet.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean hushed, nuzzling Cas’ throat, kissing below his ear. “And all for me.”

Castiel hummed a laugh, stroking a hand gently behind Dean’s neck. “Is _that_ so? I’m ‘all yours’?”

Dean nodded. “Never had that before. The kinda people I... Well, they’re not like that. Me and them, we’re all just numbers. One in a year’s worth of somebodies.”

“And me?” Castiel asked, combing Dean’s hair with his fingers.

“My best friend.” Dean kissed Castiel’s fingertip, letting him trace his lips. “Nobody’s ever gonna be like you, Cas.”

Castiel’s expression was controlled. Dean didn’t know what he was trying to hide, but pleasure was only half of what his raised brow conveyed. Cas hugged Dean closer, and Dean allowed it, hoping Cas would find it easier to feel good if he didn’t have to wear a mask. So Dean kept his head down, and kept stroking Cas, kissing his neck, whispering praises and affirmations against his skin.

“Ah-hh— Deaannnnn...”

“That’s it, Cas, let it go,” Dean breathed. “Let it all go.”

Cas climaxed over Dean’s wrist, and Dean smiled, purring at the feeling. Castiel clung to him, making little sounds of awe and exhaustion, his breath shaking in his throat.

Dean kissed him through it, then lifted his head. Their eyes met. Fireworks struck in his belly, a warm hug around his soul – holy shit, this felt _awesome_.

“How’s that?” Dean asked.

“In... Incrediblehhh,” Castiel sighed, eyes falling shut. “Oh, I’mhh... Ah...” His head tilted, body relaxing in Dean’s embrace.

“Cas?” Dean smiled. “Heyyy, don’t fall asleep on me now, bud.”

“I’...m... tryin..hh...”

Dean’s heart bloomed with roses, so helplessly. Cas had fallen to sleep under Dean’s ministrations, and now he slumbered, lips parted.

Dean kissed him, just once. And though he was still aroused himself, he pulled back his hips, wiped off the muck, then wrapped his arms around Cas, and decided to sleep too.

That choice, and the minutes that followed as he cleared his mind so he could join Cas in a dream, they proved something: something he wouldn’t realise until he woke later that night.

He didn’t need sex to feel complete.

A cuddle would do.

So long as he had Cas, he’d be fine.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Felt different than before,” Dean said, glancing at Charlie, unable to meet her eyes, too lost in his own contentment. He smiled so easily, and without a flicker in his expression, like the joy came from so deep within him that there was no chance of shaking it. “Being with Cas the second time, it was different. Better. So much better that I wondered what the _point_ even was, being with anyone else. I’d never felt this... this warmth in my chest. The goofy smile I saw in the mirror, that was new. I started, like... singing to myself. So after that, I stopped. I just quit looking for anyone else. I didn’t even think about it, y’know? I forgot there was anywhere to go after work except home to _him_.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Here’s the plan,” Dean said, clapping once. “Cas, you got your ears on?”

“Mm?” Castiel looked up from his endless business notes, the shadows under his eyes looking even more pertinent than before. His hair was a mess, his jaw unshaven, and he seemed to stare through Dean instead of at him.

“Friday night fun,” Dean decided, leaning to close Castiel’s laptop, making the poor guy jump. “You and me. We pull the drapes, we dim the lights. Put on our PJs, microwave some popcorn, set up a movie, and stuff our faces with candy. No more work tonight.”

“Hnnggnn,” Castiel complained as Dean rotated his wheely chair away from his desk. “But Deeeannnn...”

“No excuses, bud,” Dean said. “You’re starting to look more like a panda every day, and that’s _without_ the costume. Save the black eyes for your first fistfight, a’right?”

“What makes you think I’ve never been in a fight?” Castiel asked, letting Dean pull him to his feet. “I’ve been in fights.”

“Did you win?”

“None of your business,” Castiel said bluntly, turning away. “I assume by ‘PJs’ you mean ‘onesies’.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Only if I get to be the tiger again.”

“Of course,” Castiel said, pausing by his bedroom door. He looked back. “I bought that one for you.”

Dean was left alone, a sideways smile growing up his face. “Psh,” he said, and went to set up a movie.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

They made it through the entirety of _Kung Fu Panda_ – Castiel’s choice – before getting up to refill the popcorn bowl and take a bathroom break. They returned to the couch and sat where they sat before, feet up on the footstools, shoulders against each other.

“Dean?” Castiel said, as Dean messed around with the remote to find the movie’s sequel.

“Uh?” Dean murmured.

“Why haven’t you brought anyone home?” Castiel asked him, setting aside the popcorn bowl.

Dean paused, turning to peer into those curious blue eyes. “Wha?”

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw someone here,” Castiel said, glancing at his fiddling fingers, tugging on the baggy hip of Dean’s onesie. “Are you hiding people from me? Because I’d understand. You don’t want to upset me, since you and I have a sexual history now. But you should know, I’m more than okay with your endeavours, I know you have a bet to win—”

“Hey, hey, hey, no,” Dean said hastily, turning on the couch to face Castiel, holding his hand. “I’m not hiding anything. I wouldn’t do that, Cas.” Perhaps in the past, he would have. But not now. He gulped, then nodded. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then?” Castiel’s attention slipped from Dean’s left eye to his right, then back again, searching for truths Dean wasn’t saying aloud. “Then where are your partners?”

Dean swallowed harder, lips together. He bowed his head, eyes on their joined hands, shrugging a shoulder. “Ain’t met anyone I wanted to bring home.”

“So you’re taking them elsewhere.”

“What? No, I mean—” Dean breath caught, and he quickly sighed, “There hasn’t been anyone. I haven’t... done that. Been with anyone.”

“For weeks.”

“For weeks,” Dean confirmed. He shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes it is!” Castiel frowned, shifting closer, alarming Dean with his proximity. “Dean, what about your bet with Sam? What about your quest to keep yourself from drinking—”

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean said, smiling. “I’m okay with it. Yeah, okay, I’m a little hornier than I used to be, going without. But I’m not gonna die without it. It’s like going without a drink. The aftermath of getting it ain’t always great. So, that shit’s for other people now. I can deal with it.”

Sometime during the speaking of that sentence, Castiel’s face had fallen. He looked upset now. “You don’t want sex any more?”

Dean rolled a shoulder. “I want it, yeah. But like I said, doin’ it over and over with strangers ended up messing with my head. Always the adiós at the end. And I ain’t found anyone else I’m interested in doing it with, long-term.”

“Nobody?”

Dean looked at Cas carefully, knowing he was waiting on an answer. A very specific answer. He looked hungry for it, worried he might not hear it.

“Well, ‘cept you,” Dean grinned, saying it lightly so it wouldn’t feel strange.

He froze up, feeling the warmth and softness of a kiss on his lips.

Shocked by the affection, he stared. Castiel gazed back; solemn eyes, a slow exhale.

“I’m available,” Castiel told him, lowly. “If you want me, Dean, you can have me. I’m, um.” He raised his hands beside his shoulders and did finger-quotes: “I’m ‘all yours’.”

Dean laughed, headbutting Cas’ cheek. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s big, comforting hand caressed the back of Dean’s neck, stroking. “I’d rather you have sex with me than lose your bet. Don’t forget why you made that bet, either. You like sex more than drinking. And you’ve made it six months and stayed sober, Dean. The last thing I want is for you to break your streak just because you haven’t found anyone better.”

“Haven’t found...?” Dean gazed into his eyes, aching to correct him. “ _Better_? Cas...”

“It’s all right, Dean,” Castiel whispered, kissing Dean’s cheek. “Use me however you like. I don’t mind.”

“Cas, I can’t _use_ you. You’re not a fuckin’ sex toy.”

“Can’t I be?” Castiel asked, eyes agleam with mischief. “I think I’d quite like to be— Be fucked.”

Dean’s body strummed with arousal, hating that it came without warning. “You would?”

“Yes.” Castiel squirmed close, taking Dean’s hand and putting it around his waist, one panda thigh hooked over Dean’s leg. “You could put your fingers in me if you like.”

Dean’s breathing pattern broke down, halfway through a breath. He shuddered.

“Or don’t you want to?” Castiel asked, holding Dean’s cheek. “I could help you find someone else, if you prefer.”

Dean shook his head. “Nonono, this is good. This is great, actually.” He huffed a laugh. “You really just want me to fuck you?”

Castiel nodded eagerly.

Dean kissed him full on the mouth before he’d even reasoned with himself, or asked questions about where this would lead, what the emotional aftermath might be. Sex with Cas was the best sex. Cas wanted sex. Therefore Dean would provide.

Whatever this was, one thing was for sure: it was happening _there_ , and it was happening _then_. There was no time to move. No moment appeared between kisses and onesie-unzipping to think about slowing down. Hands went to skin, onesies went to the rug, and pleasured cries rang out in the darkened apartment, Netflix’s menu screen still glowing from the wall-mounted TV.

Things went too fast and too ardently to note by event. First there was kissing, and then there was sex. Dean’s fingers found their way to Cas’ ass, slicked by both their spit, and it was hot, and it was rough, and Cas climaxed before Dean even got started, but who cared? They kept going, laughing, kissing, making the couch frame squeak.

Dean’s breath hastened over Castiel’s naked shoulder, teeth grazing his skin.

“Deaaaannn...” Castiel groaned, eyes shut, his utter bliss clear on his slack-jawed face. “Deeannn—”

One bare foot shoved into the cushions, one thigh curling over Dean’s back, going so high that Dean felt a heel behind his shoulders. Cas had sunk deeply into the couch, writhing at the hips, gasping for lungfuls of air. He sobbed in delight, just about able to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean grinned down at his friend, loving how much of a mess two fingers could make him.

Dean’s left hand worked around his own cock. He spat on Cas’ ass one more time, pushing his fingers in deeply.

“Cas, we need a condom,” Dean whispered. “Otherwise this is far as we’re goin’ tonight.”

Castiel moaned in despair, begging for more in that one note. So Dean nodded, and let him go, stumbling away, then running to his bedroom to get what he needed.

He returned just as his legs gave out, and he made quick work of the condom, sheathing himself, and drenching Cas’ hole with lube. Castiel bent his head to look, his heartbeat visible under his skin, pulsing below his collarbone. Dean heaved a groan, craning to kiss Cas – whole mouth, deep tongue, and in that swoop, sealed the space between them, sinking into Cas and feeling himself swallowed up.

Castiel’s deep voice shattered around a moan, completely undone, completely gratified. Dean chuckled aloud, lifting both Cas’ thighs to brace their meaty undersides against his chest, and began snapping his hips to Cas, slipping into his ass so easily that he knew, just _knew_ , that Cas had been practising for this. Relaxing himself. Slipping fingers inside, maybe in the shower. Playing around, just to explore how it might feel if Dean fucked him.

“Deeeean—”

“Shit, yeah,” Dean breathed, loving how fast and hard he could slam into Cas’ ass without resistance, or any sign of pain. Dean moved his torso lower, so he could bend to make out with Cas as they fucked. Castiel held Dean’s hair tightly, kissing with teeth, breathing hot air into Dean’s mouth.

Dean came inside Cas and kept going, kept _going_ , grunting, loving how it felt to have too much, filling Cas up and up and up, still moving in tandem for extended pleasure.

Over and over and over, until his dick started to twinge.

“Hnyeaaah,” Dean sighed, finally starting to slow.

Cas was completely out of breath. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he could taste blood at the back of his throat from how loudly he’d shouted, or how hard he’d worked to meet Dean’s hard movements with nudges of his own.

They lay in silence, breathing, naked, sweating, gazing at each other.

The shine in Castiel’s eyes was magnificent. Dean had never seen him so satisfied.

Castiel stroked Dean’s nose with a fingertip, and Dean shut his eyes, grinning, not caring why Cas did that, not caring to pull away. Felt nice.

“You had a good time, huh,” Dean said, already knowing.

Castiel nodded, licking his already-wet lips. “Uh-huh.”

“Favourite bit?” Dean asked, tilting his head cheekily.

Castiel hummed a laugh, stroking Dean’s hair off his forehead, once, twice, three times. “This bit.”

“Afterwards? Why?”

“You look so happy,” Castiel sighed, peace in his gaze. “And I feel so—”

He went quiet, swallowing his words.

“What?” Dean urged, easing his flaccid cock out of Cas, letting it plop onto the couch. “What d’you feel?”

Castiel’s reply came out breathless and rough, like a secret: once carved into stone and buried, only now dug up so he could reveal, “I feel so loved.”

“You are,” Dean promised, without hesitation, a careless grin on his face. “Always, man. Don’t ever doubt it.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said, smiling. “But sometimes the way you look at me, it’s different.”

“Different how?”

Castiel again hesitated over his words. He moved a shoulder unsurely. “I like the way you’re looking at me now.”

Dean wished he had a mirror. He didn’t know what the fuck his face was doing. He thought this was just how he looked at Cas all the time. The way he felt about him – it hadn’t exactly changed. They were best friends. Okay, sex had inevitably brought them closer, but being closer didn’t make them into something _else_...

Did it?

Castiel looked away, the smile halfway gone from his expression. “Okay. I think we should get up now.”

“Are we not watching the sequel?” Dean asked, letting Cas up. “C’mon, the snacks are waiting. I was gonna try melting the caramel and tossing the popcorn in, then adding salt. I tell ya, that shit’s worth the belly pudge.”

Castiel sat up, one hand under his ass, biting his lip as he realised how soft and relaxed his hole was now. “Um,” he thought. “Maybe after a shower.”

“Shower, then,” Dean agreed, shamelessly feasting his eyes on Cas, kiss-bitten and freshly orgasmed. Again, in Dean’s opinion, there was something horrendously sexy about seeing his _best friend_ all fucked up like that.

Cas walked to the bathroom with a hand between his legs, toes curled, hair sticking up at random angles. He looked back this time, catching Dean’s eye. They both smiled. And then Cas shut the door.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Charlie reached out to poke Dean’s arm, and Dean jumped.

“You’re supposed to be talking aloud, remember?” Charlie smiled. “You disappeared into your own brain.”

Dean sucked on his lower lip, smiling sweetly to himself. “Just... thinkin’ about that night. I showered after Cas. And then...”

He went quiet again. Smiling.

“What?” Charlie asked, mirroring his smile.

Dean bit his lip, failing to pin his grin down. It flew out across his face like a kite spreading its white wings, and he chuckled, admitting, “We snuggled up to watch the movie. And Cas fell asleep. And then I fell asleep. And we slept there. Together. Wasn’t the same as last time, though – I didn’t sneak outta the room before Cas woke up. This time...”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean gasped awake, panicking for a second as he felt his underwear pulled down.

“Good morning,” Castiel said, altogether too warmly. Dean shuddered and groaned and spread his legs, tingling and melting from head to toe; Cas’ breath clouded around his cock as he exhaled.

“Mmh, _really_ good morning,” Dean replied, voice thick and sleepy. “Were you planning on doin’ something with that?” he asked with a nod towards his morning wood.

“Hmm.” Castiel gave Dean’s cockhead a curious lick, and Dean held his breath, wanting to watch rather than react. Castiel took the whole thing in his hand, and guided it to the flat of his tongue. He made a low noise, then sealed his lips around the end.

Dean whimpered, head falling back into the couch cushions, littered with popcorn. “Shhhhiitt...”

“Mm.” Castiel began to bob, but Dean’s cock flopped right out of his mouth. “How do I...?” He took hold of it again, gripping the base more firmly. This time he swallowed it down, breathing out while Dean’s entire erection filled up, fat in his throat.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, trying not to hump. “Mmmhh...?”

Castiel flicked his eyes up, and Dean surged with arousal, hot static down his spine – Cas’ gaze was dark, as though the lights were dimmed, but morning sun slanted through the windows on the other side of the room, and despite the golden beams, Cas had new moons for eyes.

“Cas...”

Castiel gave a greatly unimpressive _suck_ , making Dean groan and laugh at the same time, wriggling in place to get more comfortable. Cas continued to try, licking the side of Dean’s erection, mouth open. Dean whispered unhelpful noises, struggling to do anything except watch, breathe, and bite his lip.

Attempting another deepthroat, Castiel began to drool into Dean’s half-down underwear, and Dean shut his eyes, squirming and frowning. “Teethteeth _teeth_ , Cas... _Y’AAH!_ Fuck!” His head popped up off the couch, hand grabbing Cas’ hair to yank him away. “I mean _no_ teeth! Not _more_ teeth! Aahhfff. Fuck.” He collapsed back down, grinning, shaking his head, glad Cas had only been gentle.

“Apologies,” Castiel uttered, lifting his head to wipe his face with the back of his hand. “You should have been more specific.”

“Please don’t bite my dick off,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“Noted,” Castiel chuckled, bending to kiss Dean’s inner thigh. He breathed out there, making Dean purr. Castiel nuzzled, and kissed his way back up to start sucking again.

Dean groaned, long and low, sinking into bliss with both hands scrunching in Cas’ hair. “Ahh, yeeaahh... Cas...”

Castiel sucked on the tip as hard as he could, over and over, realising that move made Dean feel the most pleasure. Dean began swearing under his breath, nodding when Cas tried to meet his eyes, so Cas kept going. He went deep, and slow – then paused to lick Dean’s balls, resulting Dean’s sudden spasm and some ticklish twitching. They laughed together, and Cas applied a few kisses to Dean’s stomach, resting his nose and lips there for a while, feeling him breathe.

As Cas went back down, he eased Dean’s foreskin back with his thumb and a fingertip, releasing a wet, warm dribble down Dean’s cock. Dean _moaned_ , dizzy and blind, and let Cas do whatever he was gonna do. The guy wasn’t great at this, but Dean literally didn’t care. Because, honestly, his roommate woke him up just to suck his dick before going to work, and that was a concept hot enough to fuel the sun for at least a full Earth day, Dean thought.

Dean gulped, propping his head on the couch arm so he could keep watching. He smiled, happy to see Cas concentrating so hard but still having fun. His hand worked between his own legs, kneeling at the other end of the couch.

“Cas?” Dean asked, combing through Cas’ hair.

Cas looked up, mouth full. Dean grinned lopsidedly, body sparkling with adoration. Upon eye contact, Cas immediately climaxed onto his thigh, pausing around Dean’s erection as he let the feeling play out. He sighed, then began sucking again.

“Hmmh,” Dean said, forgetting what he meant to say. “Hahhh.... shit...” He shut his eyes and smiled, mind emblazoned with the sight of Cas’ hungry blue stare. He whimpered a little, tensing as he felt orgasm building. He gripped Cas’ hair, crying, “Ahhha... _Cas_...! CAS! Ohh-hhh... holyshhhiihh...”

He opened his eyes, feeling Cas sink away. His reddened lips were pressed tight, wet and shiny, cheeks bulging a little – Dean realised what he’d meant to say before, and that was to warn Cas he was gonna come. Dean chuckled, sitting up and bending forward, holding out a cupped hand. “Spit,” he said.

Cas spat. Dean grimaced, but nudged Cas’ stubble in congratulations. “That was awesome, man.”

“It was?”

“Yeah.” Dean winked. “Natural talent.”

Castiel glowed with pride. Dean grinned, headbutting his friend and giving him a kiss, then swinging his legs off the couch. “Dibs on the shower,” Dean said, getting up, purposefully not looking at what was in his cupped hand. “You put the coffee on.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

They met at the front door, Dean popping upright after tying his bootlaces, Cas just pulling on his trenchcoat.

“Oh,” Castiel smiled, finding himself in Dean’s personal space. “Shall I leave first or shall you?”

“Depends. Which of us is the lady?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Open the door, Dean.”

Dean cackled, opening the apartment door, bowing slightly and twirling a hand as Cas breezed past. Dean breathed his soap-scent deeply, meeting Cas in the little alcove between the first door and second. Castiel opened the apartment’s true exit, and Dean stepped through, beaming.

Once in the hallway, Dean locked up, while Castiel went ahead to call the elevator.

They rode down together, each smiling to themselves in the reflective elevator doors. They soon noticed each other’s smiles, and smiled harder, Dean leaning to nudge Castiel’s side. Castiel put his hands in his coat pockets, a somewhat shy gesture. He kept on smiling.

They exited into humid summer heat, trotting side-by-side down the front steps. Castiel realised the coat was a ridiculous choice, and removed it to hang over his arm. Seeing the flash of white shirt fabric, Dean wolf-whistled loud enough that people turned to look, and Castiel laughed and blushed hard, head down.

“Guess I’ll see you after work, then, Cas,” Dean said, stopping at the base of the concrete steps, hands in his jacket pockets. “I’ll order in pizza. Hawaiian, extra pineapple?”

“Burn in Hell, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean laughed, craning backwards.

They hesitated, still grinning, neither sure whether to simply turn away and leave, since they were heading opposite ways down the street. Then they hesitated again.

Dean opened his arms for a hug. Castiel flicked his eyes to the sky, but leaned close, pressing his chest to Dean’s.

It was brief and awkward, but they were both pink-cheeked by the time they stepped back, and wow, Dean’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

“See ya, bud.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hesitated one more time. But then he turned and left in a rush, ears burning, hands in fists inside his jacket. He let out a long, unsettled breath, wondering why the _fuck_ he’d wanted to bid farewell to Cas by saying ‘love you’.

Look, it was true. Obviously it was true. But when did _Dean_ say shit like that to his _friends_?

And since when did they hug goodbye?

Sex with Cas had changed things. Maybe irreversibly.

And yeah, it was weird. And mentally jarring, and emotionally alarming in at least fifteen specific ways Dean could count. But boy, did it make him smile.

So he let it happen. He got on with his life, and let the smile stay.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“We were past the point of no return,” Dean told Charlie, keeping his fingers busy, stacking up sugar packets like playing cards. “That morning, I think that was _it_. Cas wanted me as bad as I wanted him. Pretty sure we just stopped caring if it was appropriate or not, or whether it was meant to be an occasional, needs-based thing. We asked for sex when we wanted it, and that...” Dean pressed his lips together, shrugging, “it worked for us.

“I think it was a full week until we did it again. Friday night movie, snacks – and a little go of it on the rug, for no real reason, just because we could. Afterwards, we just kind of... lay there. And simultaneously decided – I think Cas said it— Well, this was what we _did_ now. We were best friends, and roommates. And yeah, sometimes we had sex. And that felt _awesome_.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	4. Cuddling and Colliding

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

At the weekends, Dean had himself a late night, and he sat up in bed, reading comics and stuffing his face with his secret stash of candy bars. He liked to call it self-care.

On one such night, he was halfway through a _Black Panther_ anthology when he heard a _pokpok_ on his door. He bristled all over, hurriedly stuffing the book under his pillow and his leftover candy into his mouth, wrapper tossed under the bed. “Mhh?” he asked.

Castiel opened the door and stepped in, closing the door before all the air-conditioned air could seep into the way-too-hot living room. “Are you busy?” Castiel asked, eyes lowered to the floor.

Dean chewed on his gooey marshmallows, jaw soon championing the candy, and allowing him to swallow. “Depends what you want me for. What’s up?”

Castiel huffed softly, arm banded across his bare chest. “I... um. Had a nightmare.”

“Aww.” Dean cocked his head, and reached to pat the space beside him. “I know how to fix that.”

Castiel hastened to the bed, got in, and welcomed Dean’s hug.

They lay down and cuddled, with no need to explain, or question, or discuss what Cas needed.

Cas shut his eyes and sighed.

“Same crap as usual?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Left behind – in a train station this time. Lost. Too many people. Too dark, too hot. And whoever... whoever left me behind, I almost saw their face this time. But they left me there on purpose. I know they did. I’m too small and too helpless to run after them.”

Dean gave his forehead a little kiss. “You wanna sleep here?”

Castiel nodded, snuggling closer into Dean’s warmth, feet scooting through the sheets to touch his. “Can you read me whatever _ridiculously_ solid book you’re hiding under your pillow? I find your voice soothing.”

Dean grinned, fishing out the book. “You familiar with Black Panther?”

“You keep telling me there’s going to be a movie out in a few years’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome.” Dean held the hardcover volume over their faces, angled so Cas could see. “You want the backstory or should I just read?”

“Go from where you left off.”

“Okay. I was right at the bit where—”

“Can I have some of your candy?” Castiel gave Dean the dewiest of puppy-dog eyes. “Your breath smells nice.”

“Hm.” Dean gave Cas a soft kiss, letting him get a taste. “That enough sugar for you?”

“Dean,” Castiel said flatly.

Dean laughed and rolled over, digging into his nightstand and handing over the biggest, thickest, nougatiest, most chocolatey thing he found. “I was savin’ this, but—” He kissed Cas’ nose. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

Castiel ate, and listened as Dean started to read.

He let Dean steal a few bites, and fed him a few more, and put up with him talking with his mouth full.

Dean kept reading until Cas finished eating and fell asleep.

He gazed at him, this beautiful man all curled up on his chest like an overgrown cat. How did it come to this? Dean wondered, setting the book aside. How the hell did he fall in love without noticing?

He wrapped his arm over Cas, breathing out and shutting his eyes. He left the bedside light on, in case Cas woke up and needed to go brush his teeth without stubbing a toe.

Soon Dean slept too, carried off to Dreamland by a freight train made of chocolate and sugar. In his dream, he too was left behind, alone and scared and hurt in a hundred different ways. But he found Cas, just the same. And they held onto each other, knowing instinctively that neither of them would ever be alone again.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Sometimes it was sex. Sometimes it wasn’t.” Dean had started ripping the sugar packets now, covering the bartop with white granules. He painted patterns into the grains, leaving a space where his finger swirled. Charlie noticed he was drawing lovehearts.

“The next night Cas came into my room and got into my bed, we did it without even needing to ask,” Dean smiled. “We were at the point where a smile and a kiss and a hand an inch too low was enough of a question. He left for his own bed afterwards, but man, the look on his face when he left—?! Charlie, he _loved_ me. I knew he loved me. I think he knew it, too.

“Sunday night – just a quickie on the couch, somethin’ rushed and manic, wiped up with a dirty t-shirt, ‘cause we had laundry and ironing and job prep to do before work the next day. And I thought that would be it for the week, y’know? We’d get swept up in our lives, and hanging out together would be put on hold until Friday night movies.”

“But?” Charlie asked, pushing Dean’s expanding sugar grains back towards him. “You made it sound like there was a ‘but’.”

“Yeah, _his_ ,” Dean joked. “Next evening – Monday – he comes home. I’m on the couch, just tryna unwind after dealing with that ugly-ass ice rink scoreboard all day. Got a slice of pizza in one hand, TV remote in the other. And Cas just whooshes in the door, sheds his coat – then before I get a word out, off come the pants, his shoes, his shirt. He goes into my room, comes back out with a condom and lube. And he climbs into my fuckin’ lap, stark naked. And that pizza is on the floor, and we didn’t see the remote for two weeks. But we just went at it, right there, no reason for it. Just fucked him.”

Charlie perched her chin on her palm, gazing at Dean with narrowed eyes.

“And yeah,” Dean rolled a shoulder, “it was kind of becoming a habit. Come home, have sex. Go to bed, have sex. Cook dinner – hey there buddy, what’cha cookin’? – pat on the back – have sex. But that tally of mine was still going up, so I didn’t have any reason to question why this was happening, or why Cas wanted me so bad. He usually initiated. Almost always, actually. I think he was real stressed about his business startup. Whatever time we had left at the weekends, when we weren’t helping him revise his funding pitch, or filling out insurance forms, we were in his bedroom, on top of the sheets, sitting on each other – front-to-front being the preference – and just havin’ a damn good time.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Cas, listen up, I need your help.”

At the other end of the phone line, there came a crackle and a huff as Castiel prepared to listen. “ _What do you need?_ ”

“You on the train?”

“ _Heading home, yes._ ”

“Okay, I need you to pick up dinner. Whatever you get, make sure it has salad.”

“ _Ah. Sam’s coming._ ”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, looking around the apartment, one hand in his hair. “God, this place is a mess.”

“ _Don’t rearrange my files. If you stack them, label them._ ”

“Gotcha.” Dean clicked his fingers. “And don’t be home too late, I don’t want you walkin’ in the dark. Lot of weirdos out there.”

“ _I’ll be fine, Dean. It’s only four o’clock._ ”

“Yeah, and it’s getting gloomy. I know what and _who_ is out there, all right... so just – be safe.”

“ _I will, Dean,_ ” Castiel said softly. There was love in his words, and Dean smiled. “ _Bye, Dean._ ”

“Bye.”

Dean sighed as the call ended. He glanced at his cellphone’s clock again, then at the darkening November sky past the drapes. He grumbled, and set the gloom out of his mind.

Sam arrived before Cas did, and was greeted by the freshly-vacuumed hardwood floors of the apartment, a well-plumped, newly upholstered couch he hadn’t seen before, and a big, _big_ hug from Dean.

“Heya, little brother,” Dean said, yanking Sam inside and shutting the door. “How’s the wife?”

“Eileen’s great, actually,” Sam said, taking off his coat, handing it to Dean to hang up. “Second trimester is kind of overwhelming but I hear it’s the easiest.”

“Matter of opinion,” Dean shrugged. “At least Cas says so. Different for everyone.”

“She was gonna come but she’d been on her feet all day, so I just sent her to bed with a box of chocolates and an audiobook I recorded for her.”

“Hope it was a good book,” Dean smiled, leading Sam to the couch, sitting by him.

“The best. Is this a new couch?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean grinned sheepishly. “Kind of wore the other one out.”

“How do you wear out a _couch_?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Dean stood up again, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone. He dialled, muttering, “Hang on one minute, I gotta call— Oh, hey, bud.”

“ _Hello, Dean— Damn. Okay. Oh, you infernal contraption, why won’t you—_ ”

Dean chuckled. “I see you made it home.”

“ _I’m in the elevator, I hate this thing, I want a word with whoever installed— Oh, for _good_ ness’ sake—_”

Dean heard the clanking and the whining through the phone speaker, and through the floor, rumbling under his feet. He went to the front door, opened that and the apartment door, and leaned into the hallway. He grinned, waiting for Cas to arrive.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, leaning out to look too.

At the end of the hallway, Castiel emerged from behind the metal doors, and he stuck a pizza box between them so the elevator wouldn’t crush him. He ducked under the box, then retrieved the now-squashed pizza as the doors retracted.

He stormed up to Dean, all abother. He stood before him, still holding his cellphone.

“I’m here now,” he said, into the phone.

“Yeah.” Dean gazed at him from five inches away, hearing an echo. “I got that.”

“I’m gonna... hang up... now.”

“Yeah.”

They ended their call, still gazing at each other.

“I made it in one piece,” Castiel said. “I demand you fix that elevator, whether the landlady asks you or not.”

Dean glanced to his lips, but dared not kiss him in front of Sam. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning everyone inside. “Let’s eat that bent pizza with flat everything.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

After the squashed pizza was gone, and the salad was eaten, and all that remained of their dinner was a stack of greasy cardboard and some crumbs on the coffee table, Dean curled a fist, hand empty.

In times gone by, after dinner with his brother, they’d have a beer to ease the conversation.

In times gone by, when he wanted to confess something important to someone, he’d have a beer to steel his nerves.

But those times had indeed gone by, and now Dean’s hand remained empty. The only courage he could muster was not in liquid form, but burned in his mind and churned in his gut. He took a deep breath and asked, “So, Sam, we made it to November. Seven weeks left of the year. How’s the bet going?”

Sam looked up. “What bet?”

The tension in Dean’s body melted to panic. “The bet! The bet! The— The _bet_?!”

Castiel cut in, voice calm and slow, “I believe Dean is referring to the bet you both made on the final night of last year. You wanted to see which of you could engage in more sexual activity over the course of th—”

“Oh, _that_ bet,” Sam said, putting his fizzing soda glass down on a coaster. “Yeah, I guess that’s going fine. I assumed you thought of it more as a competition than a bet.”

Dean shifted in place on his pouffe. “But what are the figures? Give me numbers, Sammy, I need to know how much ass I gotta shake before the year’s up.”

“None of your business,” Sam retorted, smiling. “I’ll tell you when I win.”

“Oh-ho-ho-ho, no,” Dean said smugly. He waggled a finger. “That’s not happening. I know for a fact that I’m winning.” He caught Cas’ eye as he spoke, and they shared a secretive smile. Cas was the first to look away, gazing instead at his soft-stroking thumbs, clasped between his knees. “For one thing,” Dean said to Cas, then Sam, “I’m not sleeping with anyone suffering from pregnancy aches. Libido through the _roof_.”

Cas blushed, and Dean smirked.

“Uhh,” Sam put his drink down. “Not to complain or anything, but you know I can’t just sleep with someone _else_ if Eileen’s aches and pains don’t suit me, right?”

“Yeah?” Dean scoffed. “Come on, it’s not like I get to pick and choose, either.”

Sam actually laughed. “Sure, but even if someone you like isn’t available, you have practically the rest of the world falling at your feet. You’re not even limiting yourself by gender. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like an advantage.”

Dean gulped, eyes flicking to Cas. “You’re wrong, Sammy,” he said, as Cas continued not to look back at him. So Dean looked at Sam, giving him a hard, determined nod. “Like Eileen, if Cas ain’t up for it some nights, then nothing happens. And I just gotta deal.”

“What do you mean, ‘Cas’?” Sam asked, looking at Cas, who wouldn’t look back. Sam glanced at Dean. “What do you mean, ‘ _Cas_ ’?”

Dean drew a breath. “Uh. See.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “What Dean means to say is, he and I have a sort of... understanding, in that—”

“Cas is my fuck buddy,” Dean grinned, batting at Cas’ knee. “My go-to sex toy.”

Castiel squeezed his thumbs together, turning the pads white. “Exactly,” he said.

“Fuck... buddy,” Sam repeated, looking between them.

“Yeah,” Dean chirped, glad that Sam seemed more intrigued than confused. “Anytime I want somethin’, Cas drops everything to please me. It’s awesome.”

“Right,” Sam said, looking carefully at Cas. “And how— How long have you been...?”

“A few months, since summer,” Dean shrugged. “Almost every night. Sometimes twice.” He grinned, bumping a fist against Castiel’s tense hand.

“Do you enjoy it?” Sam asked Castiel.

In the following silence, Castiel realised Sam was talking only to him. He looked back at Sam, and smiled so widely, and so genuinely that Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, yes,” Castiel said, his voice deep and rolling with emotion. “There’ve been few moments more gratifying in my life than the moments I share with Dean after we’ve been intimate.”

“Oh,” Sam said, eyebrows up. For some reason Cas’ response surprised him. “Oh, that’s really cool. Great. I’m glad you have that.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean chuckled. “God, it’s so much easier to come home rather than hitting on random people in a bar for an hour after work.”

“Yes,” Castiel said to Sam. “This started when I grew especially concerned that Dean was spending so much time in bars when he was supposed to be completely sober.”

“It did?” Dean looked at Cas, taken aback. “I thought it started ‘cause you wanted—” His eyes darted to Sam, unsure what Cas was okay with him hearing. “You wanted me to be your... y’know...”

“My First,” Castiel smiled. “Yes.”

“So that was true.”

“Of course it was, Dean.” The honesty in Castiel’s stare was too blunt to question. “But when we began having regular intercourse, I simply had your safety and sobriety in mind, as well as my pleasure.”

Sam laughed uncomfortably, head turned away.

Dean wet his lips. “Um. S-So. Cas. Humour me here. Say I brought someone home tomorrow night, and told you I met them at work, not at a bar. What would you think of that?”

There was something indecipherable happening behind Cas’ eyes. His face was blank. “I assume you intend to have sex with them,” Castiel said. When Dean shrugged, Castiel said, flatly, “I’d be fine with that. You have a bet to win. Like we’ve both said in the past, I’m simply a ‘toy’ for you to use. If you find another partner you care about, I’d only want you to be content and open with them.”

Dean’s insides folded in on themselves a little bit. Cas’ words made him acutely unsettled, but he couldn’t say why. At least not aloud. “So it’s about the bet,” Dean said. “All the sex, you and me – it’s about keeping me sober.”

“Keeping you safe, yes,” Castiel agreed. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, not blinking. “I think I worry about you as much as you worry about me, Dean. You say you’re aware of who-or-what is ‘out there’. And I...” He reached to touch Dean’s chest, palm to his fluttering heart. “I know who-and-what is _in here_. I know how much of a danger you are to yourself. I’ve kept you safe any way I could.”

“With sex,” Dean said.

“Yes.”

“Sex _you_ enjoy too.”

“...Yes.” Castiel pulled back his hand, curling a fist.

Dean had run out of words. His eyes darted to his brother, and saw Sam looking fast between them, wearing a panicked expression like his parents were on the cusp of fighting.

“Hey,” Dean said, catching Sam’s eyes. He smiled at him. “Quit lookin’ like the world’s ending, dude. I just got some straight-up clarity I’d been wondering about for a while. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh-huh?”

Dean looked at Cas and smiled. Castiel smiled back, and Dean relaxed. “Yeah.” He turned his smile to Sam. “Everything’s fine.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean went to Castiel’s bedroom that night, entering wearing just his boxers and the stubble on his jaw. Without speaking, he shut the door, keeping the soft ambience of the nightstand light cozy and contained. Cas was busy making his bed, fluffing his second pillow.

“Cas,” Dean said.

“Yes, Dean? Could you pull the other side, please, the covers are wonky.”

Dean went to the opposite side of the bed and straightened the covers, while Cas placed the pillows just-so.

“Did you want something?” Castiel asked, pulling off his t-shirt, tossing it into the laundry hamper. He glanced at Dean, eyes lingering as he rummaged in his dresser for another shirt. “It’s not like you to be quiet.”

Dean shrugged. He took off his boxers and lay naked in the middle of the bed on his side, palms together under one cheek. “Sam says I seem happier,” he told Cas. “More together and in control of my life than when he last saw me.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Castiel grinned, crawling onto the bed to sit beside Dean, touching his bare hip. “Perhaps it’s all the orgasms.”

Dean gazed at him softly, heart clenched tight. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

Or maybe it was something else.

Dean swallowed, then sat up to kiss Cas, holding his jaw gently.

Their kisses were familiar now. Commonplace, almost. Easy, and predictable, but never boring. One slip of Cas’ tongue against Dean’s lip and his heart went thumping. One touch of Cas’ hand against his thigh, and the hairs on Dean’s skin went roaring like a jungle. One push of his body, one gasp of breath against his ear, and Dean fell apart as quickly as he had the first time, taken to places he’d been before but discovering new sights and sounds every time.

“Mmmmmmm,” Castiel moaned, rocking against Dean, pushing their erections to full mast with his slow-shifting weight. They thrusted and nudged and squirmed this way and that, letting intuition guide their next moves.

They kissed deeply, holding each other’s hands.

“Cas?” Dean asked, breaking their kiss just to breathe the humid air. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, I took the trash out,” Castiel said. “And your shirts are ironed.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Not about that.”

“Then?” Castiel sucked the curve of Dean’s ear, making him shudder. “What do you want to know?”

Dean sighed, eyeing the ceiling as they surged together. He let pleasure take a backseat, as he needed to think with his heart for a moment. He pushed Cas’ shoulder to make him slow down. Cas peered at him, curious.

“I feel weird about what I said earlier tonight,” Dean began, still looking at the ceiling. “To Sam. What I called you.”

“A ‘fuck buddy’,” Castiel smiled. “Is it not an accurate term?”

Dean frowned. “Well, sure, I guess it is. But—?” He met Castiel’s eyes, and shrugged. “Don’t you ever want... more? Have an emotional connection deeper than... what we have. Deeper than friendship, and sex, or whatever.”

Castiel chuckled, “Dean,” he rolled his eyes, “we’re already the best of friends. We have been for many years now, now. I don’t think it’s _possible_ to care about you any more than I already do. You can call me by whatever term you like, flippant or serious. I know you and I have a _profound_ bond. Nothing will ever change that.”

Dean exhaled, letting Cas kiss his cheek, smooching all the way down his neck.

“Yeah,” Dean said, breathing shuddering. “But...” He groaned, carried away on a wave of pleasure. “Buhh...t...”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean was still dissatisfied. There was something missing from their interactions. He was convinced there was something more that could be _discovered_ or _built_ or _grasped_ , but he couldn’t figure out how to get there.

He stormed up to Cas the following night, kissed him, undressed him, then looked him in the eye, and said: “I love you.”

Castiel went dewy-eyed as he gazed back, pausing in his unbuttoning of Dean’s jeans. “I love you too, Dean.”

God, that should’ve been enough for him. That should’ve been all Dean needed. They should’ve gone back to kissing and letting Cas finger his ass, and then slowly sinking down to fill himself up with Cas’ cock, and that should’ve been the end of it.

They loved each other. They trusted each other. They would probably be together as long as their individual mortality would allow. That was enough for everyone. So why wasn’t it enough for Dean?

“You don’t understand,” Dean said, as he sat upon Cas’ waist, pushing his ass down and down and _down_ so Cas’ eyelids flickered in his ecstacy, hands weak on Dean’s nipples. “Cas, you don’t get it. I love you. I fuckin’ _love_ you, dude.”

“I know,” Castiel whispered, nodding. “I know you do.”

They kissed, and nuzzled, and Dean groaned, seeking a greater connection via Cas’ cock, holding him, kissing him, gasping against his bared throat.

But still Dean shook his head. “I’m head over heels in love with you, Cas.”

“Yeaaaah,” Castiel cried, surging up to press deeper into Dean’s heat. “Me too,” he moaned. “Me too, Dean, I love you. M-More than anyone or – ah – anything. I love you too.”

Dean sobbed, _aching_ in the pit of his belly. Cas didn’t _understand_. He said he did, and he acted like he did, but Dean didn’t need to hear a word, or see an action, because at his core, in the softest, most vulnerable part of his mind and heart, he knew without doubt that Cas didn’t understand.

There was something missing between them. There had been a disconnect in communication, and it had happened a while ago, too long ago to fix now. Too long ago to track down and dismantle. Too many incorrect affirming actions had occurred between then and now to make Cas understand what had changed in the meantime.

They could love each other with all the fury of the twisting, turning, infinitely-expanding universe, but the truth was, if that first explosion hadn’t gone off right, what they were creating together wasn’t what either of them had had in mind at all.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“So that was last night,” Dean said, staring blankly at his piles and piles of useless sugar. The milkshake bar now gleamed with silver moonlight and pink neon, every shadow a perfect navy blue. Dean’s face was empty of colour, a silhouette of sadness, his hopeful eyes the only points of light. “I came to you,” he told Charlie. “I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to _go_ from here, Charlie.”

Charlie got up, and went back behind the bar.

She turned on the lights again, and started powering up the kitchen gadgets.

“What, what are you doing?” Dean asked.

“This calls for another milkshake,” Charlie said. “You ‘n me need to think about this.”

“I’ve thought about it every way there is to think about,” Dean said morosely, one hand clutching his forehead, torso bent towards the bartop. “When I tell Cas how I feel.... I kinda get the sense he thinks I’m... _teasing_ him. Like I’m offering a deeper connection, a relationship, but he thinks, oh, it’s just temporary. I don’t really mean it. I don’t have the _equipment_ to mean it.

“It’s my own fault, probably,” Dean mused. “All those months... years, sleeping with people and not caring. Dating people sometimes, and then breaking up and being single again. Cas thinks... maybe, okay, Dean loves me _now_. But I can’t prove to him I mean it for good. Anything I do or say, he weighs it against past evidence, and comes up believing I can’t _help_ having it fall apart eventually.

“He loves me,” Dean said firmly. “I know he loves me. I’d bet my life in saying he loves me as much as I love him, maybe even more. But there’s this look in his eyes, Charlie, I can’t describe it. He comes home and does this quick sweep of the living room, I don’t think he even knows he does it. And there’s... relief, I guess. In his eyes. Like he’s surprised and glad that there’s nobody else there, naked on the couch.

“I fucked this up before we ever even kissed,” Dean said, despair weighing down his voice until it was barely a murmur. “I fuck everything up. And what kills me is that that _exact_ fact is the truth, and Cas knows it as well as I do: I fuck things up. That’s why he can’t trust what I say.”

“Hmm,” Charlie pondered, tipping fresh strawberries into a blender. “Thing is, as you’ve been explaining, I started to wonder if Cas just thinks you’re keeping him close, using him for sex so you win the bet.”

“Right?” Dean groaned, flopping face-down in his sugar piles. He lifted his head again, swiping grains off his forehead, letting them rain down onto the marble. “He’s sleeping with me because he loves me, yeah, but not because he sees sex as an _expression_ of love – I fucked that up too – but because he sees it as a way to keep me safe. Away from the bar, and alcohol. Away from horny people with no strings attached. Away from myself, even. My own dark oxytocin-deficient thoughts.

“This ain’t about the bet,” Dean sighed. “Screw everything I went through this year – Sam can win for all I care. All I want is Cas. That’s all I want.” Dean chewed around nothing, working hard to keep from crying. “That’s all I fuckin’ want.”

Charlie watched him, one hand on her fruit-stuffed blender, one hand reaching to squeeze Dean’s hand.

“I love him,” Dean said, as the first tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his sugared cheek. “I love him and he doesn’t believe me.” He shut his eyes and two more bittersweet tears joined the first on his chin. “I don’t know what to do.”

Charlie placed both hands on Dean’s, now. “Look at me.”

Dean looked at her.

“You need to stop having sex with him,” Charlie told him.

“What?!”

“Make it clear you intend to lose the bet. Because it’s not about that, or alcohol, or other people, it’s about him. If Cas can put out basically every night for you, you can keep it in your pants for him. Promise me you can do that.”

Dean nodded, sniffing.

“Good. You need to treat Cas the way you want to treat him, with love and kindness and all that good stuff. But _without_ the goal of sex. If he wants to bang you, cuddle. If he wants to mess around on the couch, mess around in the kitchen and make pancakes or something. _Show_ him how you feel. _Tell_ him how you feel. Don’t let it seem like he’s losing anything. Give him more attention than you did before. And don’t you dare give up – not on him, and _not_ on yourself.”

Dean nodded, and nodded, wiping his tears with the backs of his hands.

“You gotta woo the guy, okay,” Charlie smiled. “Bring him flowers, take him out somewhere nice. Kiss him, Dean. Read him every comic book you have. Cuddle him to sleep, whatever feels right. Start over. Maybe then he’ll realise you mean it.”

“Start over,” Dean breathed. “Start...” A spark fired in his eyes, and he straightened up, realising: “Wait, you mean, like... _date_ him?”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	5. Cold 'n Wet

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Dean!”

As soon as Dean got in the door, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders. Both Dean and his jacket were cold from the night air, a bold contrast to Castiel’s heater-warm skin.

“Where _were_ you?” Castiel stood back, both hands clasped around Dean’s freezing jaw. “I was getting worried, you didn’t answer my texts—”

“Milkshakes with Charlie,” Dean answered, shedding his jacket, eyes closing. “Just needed an outside perspective on something.”

“It’s nine o’clock, Dean,” Castiel said. “You were meant to be home by five.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Dean uttered, kissing Cas’ cheek. “I had my phone on silent. I just... needed to talk it out. I guess you could call it therapy.”

“What’s this about?” Castiel asked. He went with Dean to the kitchen, watching him toss down his keys, then wash his hands. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, but he spoke like he intended to say more. He pressed his lips together, then shrugged. “Something. Look, it’s nothing that’s gonna be fixed overnight, and as far as world issues go, it’s right down there with the fakeness of grape flavour and the existence of soccer moms.”

“It is not of import,” Castiel surmised. “And yet it kept you out four additional hours with no thought to how worried I’d be. It’s _dark_ , Dean. It’s cold. I called your work but you’d left at the normal time. I didn’t know where you were, when you’d be back, I didn’t know what I should _do_ , Dean, whether I should call the cops or just wait—”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Cas—” Dean covered his eyes and sobbed, shaking his head. “I fucked up again. I can’t even— The simplest things— God! Just one day I’d like to _not_ screw up, you know?” He peeked out, hands falling. His eyes were glazed with tears. “One day.”

Castiel folded into Dean’s embrace, breathing out against his shoulder. “I hope that too.”

“Huh,” Dean chuckled. “Great cheerleaders I’ve got in my corner, huh?”

Castiel decided he didn’t mean that literally, so replied, “Well, you did in fact fuck up. So.”

Dean laughed, glancing away. He exhaled, one hand over his mouth.

Then he nodded, and gulped. “Do you wanna maybe go someplace, tomorrow night? You and me. Do something fun, take our minds off stuff.”

“Go... where?”

“Hell knows. Movies. Strip club. Just hang out on the roof, I dunno. Maybe there’s a place open. Bowling?”

“The ice rink is open for the season,” Castiel reminded him. “The scoreboard you made will be on display.”

“Urgh.” Dean folded his arms.

“Come on, I’d like to see it,” Castiel smiled, digging between Dean’s arm and his chest, fishing out fingers to hold, his own fingers pushed between. “It was your most influential project this year, I want to see how all the coding and electrical mazes became a functional piece of technology.”

“It’s ugly as shit, Cas,” Dean warned him.

“There are plenty of things with a rough surface in this world. But like many of those things, it takes a certain someone to see past the crap, and to know, really _know_ , Dean... inside, it’s beautiful.”

Dean met his eyes. They both knew Cas was talking about him.

Dean ducked his head, embarrassed to be forgiven so sweetly.

“Can we?” Castiel tugged on Dean’s hand. “Let’s go ice-skating.”

Dean couldn’t help it: his face split into a silly grin. “Okay. Alright. Tomorrow evening. We’ll go skating.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Like a club, or a bowling alley, or any public event space classed under ‘nightlife’, during the winter season, the ice rink in Pittsburgh came alive with lights after dark. The entrance area was carpeted in red. There was a bar nearby the skate-renting booth, which Dean turned around to avoid. There was a fast-food booth, at which Castiel bought a hot donut to share.

While they sat at a table and ate, they observed the dozens of other people in the lobby, and closer to the concrete bleachers: people of every shade of brown; young and old, of all sizes, shapes, and physical abilities. There were dancers in skin-tight glittery costumes and ponytails; there were children helping each other put their skates on; there was an old woman in a wheelchair, giving a young man assistance with his posture. There were numerous people just walking around on the carpet with blades strapped to their feet, which Dean said had always bothered him – think of the ankles! – but he finished the donut, got his skates, and quickly became one of Those People, opting to walk from carpet to concrete to ice while balancing on two thin lines of metal, rather than walk barefoot.

The rink itself was massive, domed overhead with metal scaffolding and blackness. Glass screens separated the surrounding bleachers from the oval of white, one section open to let people on and off the ice.

Pop music played loud on the speakers, and it came through clear enough, but became muddied by all the echoing chatter and calls from the people enjoying their evening. Castiel was easily overwhelmed by all the hustle and bustle, so clung to Dean’s arm for physical support, as well as mental reassurance.

“I’ve got ya, bud,” Dean said, holding Cas’ hand and leading him carefully to the open side. “Don’t pay any attention to all of that, okay, just appreciate the ride.”

As they stepped onto the flat surface, Castiel gasped at the change of texture, right foot shooting out before the left one was even on the ice.

Once he had both feet together, he glided so smoothly, it was like floating. There was no resistance between him and the ground; he moved forward whether he wanted to or not.

Dean led them both, taking Cas on a slow cruise along the right edge of the rink, joining the spiral of people.

As Castiel clung to his arm, Dean grinned, chatting away about his history in this rink.

In all the time he’d spent here, arguing with the rink manager, fighting with the designer of the scoreboard’s visible face, and desperately trying to get the manual labourers to understand what he meant by ‘ _not that plug, the OTHER plug_ ’, he’d become quite good at skating. He almost had to be, given how many weeks he’d wasted out here on the ice.

There hadn’t been ice to begin with, but when the installation of the digital board overran, the rink turned from a concrete skateboard park to a flat expanse of – as Dean so aptly put it – slippery penguin carpet.

“I had real shoes on for most of the time. The zamboni chick hated me. But during breaks, what else was there to do but grab some skates and scoot around? Nothin’, that’s what. There’s a pinball machine in the lobby but it broke and they wouldn’t let me fix it. I was planning a secret guerilla repair around the time I snapped and they sent me home early.”

Castiel had begun to gain confidence, having mastered the art of keeping his feet parallel as he moved. Dean guided him around the oval’s advertising-clad edge, and Castiel eased out a breath, teaching himself to sweep one foot forward, then the other, to mimic walking without lifting a foot.

“Hey, you’re not bad at this,” Dean said proudly. “Guess all the running you do to catch trains strengthened those thunder-thighs. Or – heh, maybe it’s all the bouncing you and I do.”

“I had roller-skates as a child,” Castiel said. “The experience is similar. Look, I can even—?” He let go of Dean and drifted out on his own, arms out beside him. “Oh! Dean, look!”

“Wow, look at _you_ go,” Dean cheered, skating to catch up, keeping a slow pace beside him. “You’re a natural.”

“No such thing,” Castiel said firmly. “I learned a similar skill a long time ago, the pathways in my brain are simply extrapolating to cope with a parallel simulation.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean smiled. “Enough with the dirty-talk, Cas, keep it clean. There’s kids here.”

“Dirty...?” Castiel squinted. He inhaled, realising, “Ohh, you find my intelligence attractive.”

“Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh,” Dean mocked, eyes narrowed, lip quirked. “Yeah, let’s see you try and withstand an absolute barrage of words you ain’t heard or used since college and not feel a physical rush.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, then took Dean’s hand as they sped along, going a little faster, attempting a curve and overtaking a few people as they went.

Castiel laughed aloud, loving the sensation of cool air gushing up under his trenchcoat, whooshing past his ears. He pulled Dean along, blades scraping the ice as he learned how to skid— “Excuse us,” he said to a mother and her daughter, passing by, Dean following in his wake. “Whoo!”

“Easy, eeeasy, Cas, what’s the rush?” Dean panted, hurrying to keep up. “Maybe we oughta slow down, y’know, since this is your first time skating and all, don’t wanna end up falling – ‘cause that hurts like a bitch, man – not that I would know, I mean, what—?”

Castiel peered at Dean, chuckling, delighted and smug that he remained at his side. “It appears I’m quite good at this.”

“You’re telling me—” Dean yelped, grabbing Cas’ arm, bending forward, then back, skating faster than he was prepared for. “Oh my God, oh my God—”

“Are you scared?” Castiel asked, taking Dean’s hand tightly. “I won’t let you fall, Dean.”

“You can’t know that!” Dean babbled, eyes wide, then pressed tight shut as they came up on the end of the rink. “Cas Cas Cas Cas—”

“Theeeere we go,” Castiel soothed, leading Dean in the curve, heading back up the other side of the oval. “Open your eyes, Dean, we’re okay. We can slow down if you like.”

He smiled, watching Dean relax. He still clung to Cas’ arm like it was all that kept him from being run over by everyone else.

“Wheeeewwww...” Dean breathed out through narrowed lips. Once calm, he looked around, then at Castiel. “Not for nothin’, Cas, but going slow is kinda boring in comparison.”

Castiel laughed, nodding. “Come on, then.” He sped up again, this time leading Dean closer to the centre of the ice, where the scars in the surface were less like spiderwebs, as this area was used least.

There, he let Dean go, and began skating around him, and they twirled, vaguely in time to the music. Castiel reached for Dean’s hand again, and they held tight, stretching wide, spinning gently around each other like the yin circling into the yang.

The fear in Dean’s eyes, it had come and gone every so often, over months, or weeks, or days. Sometimes it would be there, sometimes it would vanish. In times when Dean felt he was entirely safe, there was no fear in his eyes, only love. Castiel strived to create those moments. He _lived_ for those moments. He never wanted Dean to be afraid.

Whenever they lay together, naked, spent, and peaceful – those were moments when Dean was empty of fear. He gazed at Castiel only with contentment, and it was obvious he had every intention of remaining with him, seeking those pleasures, and that safety, and that slow-burning, core-warming happiness.

But there were times, even times of trust, where Castiel saw an absence of all that. He saw a version of Dean who doubted what he felt, who paid attention to his fear, who let it talk to him, and he whispered back.

Dean and Castiel could swirl like galaxies in the centre of the ice forever, as the people orbited them for all eternity, and they would never collide completely. They could not fall into each other. Their gravity was just enough to keep them from drifting apart, but never enough to let them become one.

Castiel wished he didn’t feel distant, as he laced his fingers between Dean’s, as the world turned, every colour beyond Dean’s face merging into a seamless blur. He loved this glowing, winter-freckled galaxy before him with more feeling than he ever thought could be contained within him, but it seemed like there was nowhere for that love to go. Dean could not open himself to it completely.

He was still afraid.

Maybe he would always be afraid.

Even in these long seconds, where Castiel felt the most love, love, _love_ right down to the deepest parts of his being, he could not help harbouring hatred for the one who hurt Dean so badly that he was no longer able to accept what he deserved, to trust that someone _meant_ it when they offered love. One man was responsible for this, and Castiel _hated_ him for what he’d done.

“You look sad,” Dean said, as their spinning slowed, as he reeled Castiel in to his side. “You feeling dizzy?”

“Sickened, yes,” Castiel responded, one hand beside Dean’s neck. He exhaled, shaking his head as they stilled. “Upset, I suppose.”

“Why? The scoreboard that bad?” Dean grinned, glancing to the massive block of advertising screens that overhung the centre of the rink, directly above them. “Bums me out too.”

“Not that,” Castiel said. “Just... something you told me a long time ago. It still weighs on me.”

“Something,” Dean repeated. “What kind of something?” Another flicker of panic crossed his face, cheeks red from the cold. He thought whatever was wrong was _his_ fault.

“Dean,” Castiel said deeply, taking Dean’s cheek under his palm, reaching to brush back his hair. “You’re not the one to blame.”

“F... For what?”

“Everything.” Castiel gave him a sad look. “You think you are, you think you’re always doing wrong, always making mistakes, always the one ‘fucking up’. Sometimes, yes, you are. But those are... mistakes. Those are mis-steps. They’re accidents, they’re unavoidable, they’re inevitable. Maybe sometimes you cause them. Yes. But they’re not _you_.”

Dean gazed at Castiel with ever-gleaming eyes, green and shining with emotion.

“You’re not a mistake,” Castiel said firmly. “You’re not a disaster. You’re not wrong for existing, or wanting, or _being_ whatever it is that you are. You’re not a fuckup. You’re a survivor. You don’t think you deserve to be loved. But you are lovable. You are.” Castiel nodded. “And I love you.”

A sideways smile lifted up Dean’s cheek. “Ah, shucks, Cas, that’s real sweet.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Castiel said. “I _love_ you.”

“I know, dude.” Dean glanced at Castiel’s lips, wanting to kiss him – but then glanced around, saw other people, and resisted his urge. “I got it the first time.”

“No,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s jacket collar in both hands. “Look at me! Dean, I _adore_ you. I want to be with you forever. I would die for you. I want to be buried in the same grave as you. I want to meet you in Heaven and _be_ with you for as long as God or the angels or whatever’s up there allow. And if they say it has to end, then I’d fight _God and the Devil himself_ to get you back.”

Dean looked taken aback by that, as he should be. “You... wanna... share my gravesite?”

“ _That’s_ the most astounding thing about that statement?”

“Well, no, it was just weird.”

“Dean—”

“I get what you’re saying,” Dean smiled, hands up between them. “Really. C’mon, I pretty much feel the same way. Y’know, give or take the morbidity.”

Castiel sighed. He let Dean go, because he was trying to back away. Castiel swallowed, turning his eyes elsewhere, jaw set.

“Don’t get upset, man, I just don’t really wanna do this whole touchy-feely lovey-dovey thing while there’s people around.”

“That’s exactly the problem! What are you afraid of?” Castiel demanded, looking Dean directly in the eye. “What do you think will happen if you accept my unconditional love?”

Dean breathed quickly, eyes flashing with fear. “What? Cas, c’mon, don’t—”

“What part of you still thinks this is _wrong_?” Castiel cried, floating a little closer. “Let people see us, Dean. Let people see who you are, what you love! Please! You’re not a – a _freak_ for loving me. You’re not broken. Loving another man, loving your best friend isn’t a dirty, shameful, bad thing, Dean, it’s as natural as anything.”

“Cas—”

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel growled, both hands caressing Dean’s face, holding him. “I’m a man, I’m your best friend, and I love you. And I _know_ you love me too.”

Dean turned his face away, too ashamed to even look back.

Castiel let him go and slid back.

Maybe this would always be how it was. The hurt went too deep. His father’s scars were unhealable. Dean would always hate the decent man he’d grown to be, and resist love, thinking it was not meant for him, or not genuine, no matter how much of it he was offered.

“What you’re looking for,” Castiel said, softly, as people stared, “is not contained within me. It’s not something amiss between you and I. I understand more about your love than you realise. What you’re looking for, Dean, what you’re missing? It’s in you.”

He remained still, waiting until Dean met his eyes.

Castiel gave him an assuring smile, though it hurt. He blinked, then turned away. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope you find what you need.”

He left Dean there, motionless, the iris at the centre of an ever-revolving eye of white. Castiel left as a teardrop, falling.

Even when he was gone, he knew Dean remained blind.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Cas! Cas, wait!”

Dean tossed his second skate down on the carpet, running in his socks towards the trenchcoated figure on the other side of the lobby. “CAS!”

The figure did not turn, only kept walking.

He swept out through the glass doors and into the night.

Dean fought his way there, but as he moved, more people seemed to come out of nowhere, slowing him, forcing him to dart this way and that. He ran, and ran, and fell into the door before it closed.

The rain-washed concrete chilled him from his soles, the hush and hiss and splutter of a downpour soaking through his jacket shoulders, cooling the backs of his hands. He couldn’t see anything, just the mist of falling rain. Dark night. Floodlights over the street.

A truck drove past, all red lights and roaring engine. As it passed, Dean saw a shadow on the other side.

“Cas!”

He ran across the road, grunting, feet stabbed by loose tarmac rocks. He heard only his own breath, felt his heartbeat in his ears.

At last, he reached the trenchcoated figure, grabbing his shoulder. “Cas, I wanted to tell you—”

An old man peered back at him, his white beard wet with rain.

Dean stepped back. “Sorry,” he said. “I th— Thought you were somebody else.”

He fled into the darkness again, leaving the old man staring after him.

Dean ran far enough that nobody could see him any more. He ran into the shadows, and stopped, halfway between the circles of light under the streetlamps. He panted, hands on his knees.

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, numbing feet flat to the ground, toes over the curb like he was about to dive into a pool. He could see nothing before him: the pool was eternal damnation. His jeans clung to him uncomfortably, as did his shame.

“Shit,” he whispered, bowing his head, letting the rain wash down the back of his neck. He shivered, wishing he had something to warm him up. A blanket. A person to hug. A hot drink.

He sniffed, lifting his head.

Okay, new plan. He was gonna get his shoes. He was gonna put his shoes on. And then he was gonna go find a dry, warm place where he could properly consider what the hell to do next.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Castiel sat on a bench in the rain. He bent forward, hands over his eyes. He growled to himself.

What use was a dramatic exit? He still had to go home at some point, where Dean would be. He doubted either of them intended to move out – so what next? What possible progression was there after _this_?!

Cas didn’t spend too long mulling it over. He was getting wet, and cold, and despite the rain and the noise and the blackness hogging him all around, he felt exposed. He pulled himself together, and looked out towards the storefronts, eyes drawn to the few that allowed light to spill into the street, bathing sections of the void in liquid gold.

One in particular stood out, as the lights were not golden, but pink, and orange, and blue, changing by the second.

Castiel found himself travelling towards that store before he even realised he’d stood up. He knew it was warm in there. He knew the people inside were friendly.

And he knew it was a favourite haunt of Dean’s; Castiel had long-ago introduced him to it. The sign above read _Fairy Realm_ , with a neon subheading: _Magical Milk Shop and Enchanted Eatery_.

Castiel bumped into someone near the doorway, apologising to the stranger who held their jacket over their head. “You first,” he offered, pushing open the glass door, making the bell jingle.

Dean lowered his jacket, spiky-haired and soft-lipped. “After you,” he said.

They stood in silence, as the jaunty music escaped from inside, bleeding into the night.

Dean looked down, took Castiel’s hand, and led him into Charlie’s diner.

Black and white tiles clapped under Castiel’s shoes. As he looked up, his eyes glossed with pink; a wave of hot sugar-scented air evaporated a layer of water from his face instantly.

Castiel began to smile. It had been too damn long since he’d visited Charlie’s shop. He’d been so swept up in starting his dream business and his relationship with Dean that he barely had time for other, less indulgent things, like caramel-drizzled milkshakes the size of his forearm, with whole brownies and a rainbow pinwheel planted on the top.

Now that Castiel felt safer, he looked down at Dean’s wet hand, barely able to feel it as he was numb with cold – but he saw Dean’s fingers latched between his own.

He looked up at Dean. Dean couldn’t speak; he took a breath, gazing back with sorry eyes.

Castiel smiled. He let go of his hand, and began peeling off his dripping trenchcoat.

Dean followed suit, grumbling complaints about water down his back. Everything he wore appeared a shade darker than it had at the skating rink. He cocked his head towards a leather-seated booth, and took a seat opposite Cas.

“Hey-ho, what can I get you?” came a husky, optimistic voice.

Castiel smiled widely as he saw Charlie’s girlfriend Tara come up to their table, her hair in a ponytail and tied with some kind of amulet. “Oh, you’re back! How was Egypt?”

“Less rain, more sand,” Tara said. “We have a Archaeologist's Special tonight if you’re interested. Dark chocolate chip, gold glitter, and there’s a cookie on top that looks like a scarab beetle. Charlie made ‘em.”

“Please,” Castiel agreed. He looked across the diner table to Dean, smiling. “Dean?”

Dean was too busy gazing at Cas to pay attention; his eyelashes fluttered, lips bobbing further apart as he slowly registered the question. “Oh. Uh. Just. Strawberry—”

“The usual, got it,” Tara smiled. “Back in a jiffy.”

She turned and left in a twirl of white lace and brass buttons, and Castiel returned his attention to Dean.

Dean swallowed, frowning at his own hand, loose on the tabletop. The hand twitched, then moved like an ouija board planchette to connect with Castiel’s. It rested there, just touching him. But once Dean decided to hold Castiel’s hand, his fingers slid over Cas’ palm, warm; his grip was determined; his hold was firm, and he wasn’t about to let go, that much was clear.

“Dean—”

“Don’t.” Dean shook his head, eyes down. “Cas, just don’t.”

Castiel exhaled, letting Dean have his silence.

“Shitty weather, huh,” Dean murmured.

Castiel remained expressionless. Of all things, Dean wanted to talk about the weather?

“The weather is appropriate for the season,” Castiel said. “And had we not been outside tonight, you would have have been content to stay at home and watch a movie, knowing that the sky is emptying so it won’t rain during the day tomorrow. There is no such thing as bad weather, Dean, only badly-chosen clothing.”

Dean seemed stumped for a moment. Then he laughed, and his eyes crinkled, the sight of which made Castiel smile too. “I ran out in my socks,” he said. “Got fuckin’ drenched. Every step I take now, I’m sliding around in my boots. I think there’s a pebble stuck in my sock, too.”

“As I said,” Castiel smiled. “Badly-chosen clothing.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean turned his eyes away, smile lingering on his lips. “I was kind of in a rush.”

Castiel wondered why Dean hadn’t caught up. Maybe he’d called out, unheard. Maybe they’d taken different turnings. Maybe fate separated them with rain, only to bring them back together once they’d had some time to think.

“I had something real important I wanted to tell you,” Dean went on, nodding, looking down at their joined hands. “Might not be the right time, I dunno. But I... wanted—”

He hesitated.

“Actually, you know what, forget it—”

“Dean! Cas!” Charlie shoved up onto the seat beside Dean, bumping him along with her hip. “You’re _both_ here!” She gave Dean a long, significant sort of look. “I know I said take Cas somewhere nice, but heck, you really went for it.”

Dean cleared his throat, pushing up a smile. “We ended up here more out of necessity, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Pff.” Charlie blew her bangs out of her face, red flares fluttering to settle by her ears again. She looked at Castiel, beaming. Then at Dean, beaming more. Then she looked at their joined hands, and purred at Dean. “So! You two look... _happy_.”

“We had a good time,” Castiel said, drawing Charlie’s eye. “Dean took me ice-skating, I got to see that scoreboard he so loathes.”

“Ooh, ice-skating, huh?” Charlie perched her elbows on the table, fingers laced under her chin. “Do a lot of trust falls?”

Castiel let out a single chuckle. “Only one, metaphorically speaking. We do trust each other,” he said, eyes turning to Dean, heart full of warmth at the mere sight of him looking back, green eyes turned blue by the neon pinned on the brick wall beside them. “We’ve come a long way. We’re in a very different place than where we started.”

“Which is where?” Charlie glanced from Dean to Cas, then back again. “All my years of knowing you, I never actually heard how you met. First time I met Dean, he’d already moved in.”

“Yeah, we don’t really give people all the details,” Dean shrugged.

“Perhaps we ought to,” Castiel suggested. “At least to our closest friends.”

Dean pondered, and Castiel watched him ponder.

Finally Dean shrugged. “You tell it.”

“No, you tell it,” Castiel insisted. “Your side is more interesting.”

“Well, your side is less stressful,” Dean complained. “I ain’t dug up those memories in ages.”

Castiel conceded. “All right,” he said. “How about we both tell it?”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	6. Twin Talismans

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

**sᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴏ**

Castiel hated crowded trains. _Hated_ them. He couldn’t even begin to feel paranoid, as he was too busy being pushed and shoved and squished into a space smaller than the size of his body, left with very little breathing room. Yet, after so many years doing this, he no longer panicked. It took all his effort _not_ to panic, but the point was, he didn’t.

There was no other way to get to and from his job at the DMV. He spent all day dealing with people who had cars, but he himself, a twenty-eight-year-old college dropout, could only just afford his rent, and while a car would be too useful to call a luxury, the price of upkeep would not be. So he took the train. Every day. Twice a day.

Life was repetitive.

Castiel yawned.

He yawned for many reasons. Firstly, not enough air. Secondly, it was warm. Thirdly, he was _tired_ , because – perhaps fourthly – it was the end of a long day, and he’d taken the five a.m. train that morning to avoid the worst of the crowds. Thankfully he’d be home soon.

He yawned a second time, and then opened his eyes— “Oh, apologies,” he said to a green-eyed man two inches away who wrinkled his nose, having been breathed on.

“Nhh, don’tworryaboutit,” the man muttered, trying not to breathe in Castiel’s face. The train rocked, and their bodies nudged together, front-to-front. “Jeez,” he added, grinning with his straight white teeth. “Buy me a drink first, buddy.”

Castiel squinted. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t know you. I don’t usually buy drinks for strangers.”

The man chuckled, eyebrows rising towards his ruffled hairline. “Maybe we shouldn’t be strangers.”

Castiel licked his lips, feeling pangs of something he wasn’t used to feeling. “Um.”

The stranger chuckled – more of a huff, really – looking away. “Forget it,” he said. “Don’t mean to freak you out.”

Castiel said nothing. He did nothing. He stood against the stranger’s side for the rest of the train ride, sharing his air and his warmth, wondering why he smelled so pleasant compared to other people.

He realised why, as the train half-emptied at the next station, and the green-eyed stranger gave a parting wink—

No cologne. No perfume, no spritz of something overwhelming and aggressive and nose-destroying. That stranger had to be the only adult male Castiel had ever met who smelled of nothing chemical, but still smelled nice.

Castiel thought about that man as he walked home in the dark, striding along his street, trenchcoat tails floating behind him.

Castiel thought about that man as he pressed the button for the elevator, hands by his sides.

He thought about him, body tickled by the memory of his low voice, as he strode along the hallway to his front door.

He put his hand in his coat pocket to get his keys – and noticed an absence of a weight that ought to have been there.

His wallet was missing.

Castiel opened his door, stormed inside, and slammed it shut.

He thought about that man, yet again, as he picked up the phone and his address book and called his bank.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean cackled as he walked along a blue-drenched street, feeling light-headed with relief. What an easy score.

He sat on the steps of a nearby brownstone, and pulled out that blue-eyed guy’s leather wallet, eager to see how much he’d swiped.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“You were a _pickpocket_ ,” Charlie said, half in awe, half in distress. “How?! _Why_?!”

“I’m getting to it,” Dean said, patting the air to get Charlie to keep her voice down. “I opened the wallet. And there’s... reward cards, mostly. Coupons. Discount vouchers. And a bit of cash. Way less than I expected, but it was something. But then as I dug around, hoping for more... I found something else.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean tipped the wallet into his cupped hand, aching to find something valuable. “C’mon,” he begged, shaking the thing. “Gimme something.”

Out fell a coin.

But... no, it wasn’t a coin. Too thick. Too big. Made of wood. Dean turned it with his thumb, prickled by an odd sense of familiarity. His chest went tight, his skin began to crawl, and nausea overtook him.

The talisman he held was identical to his own. He reached into his jeans and pulled out his own token, looking at them both side-by-side.

His own talisman read ‘ _SONNY’S HOME FOR BOYS_ ’ in a curve around the top half, and ‘ _Good Little Boy: Most Caring_ ’ underneath. The flipside was a carving of a Colonial-style house with a tree out front.

The second talisman read ‘ _SONNY’S HOME FOR BOYS_ ’ just the same. But as Dean turned the flat of it towards the porch light of the brownstone, he shuddered. ‘ _Good Little Boy: Most Reliable_ ’.

Dean’s jaw had gone tight, his vision blurring with tears. He shut his eyes, wet warmth fading back where it came from. Both tokens pressed together in his fist. He kissed his knuckle, breathing out.

This kind of guilt could never be ignored. Remorse this powerful, for Dean at least, resulted in only one thing: a drive to set things right.

Dean dug around in the wallet, uttering pleas to the universe, looking for something that wasn’t a generic coffee-stamp card, or a nameless plastic rectangle.

“Aha!” Dean cried, both hands on a staff ID card.

 _Castiel J. Doe_ , it read.

“Doe.” Dean frowned. Nobody had ‘Doe’ as a second name. Not unless they were a body in a morgue or some poor soul in a hospital with amnesia, and nobody knew what to call them. He wondered if the ‘J’ stood for ‘John’.

Dean’s stomach churned at the thought of that name. John was his father’s name. There was a lot of weight tied to it, and it sank through Dean’s ribs, paining them one by one.

Regardless, Dean packed up the wallet, slipping both tokens separately into his pocket. 

Just from the surname and the talisman, Dean knew he and Castiel had plenty in common, and could piece together a good amount of backstory. Castiel had lost everything. If he’d lost his name, he must have lost his family. He would have lost his belongings. His home. Perhaps his past, too. Even as a grown-up, for a person with a past like that to lose something as personal as a wallet would be devastating. And that was all the more reason for Dean to return what he took.

With Castiel’s address in mind, Dean set off to find him. He had enough of his own money for another train ride. But once he was there, he wouldn’t have enough to get back.

For the first time in months, Dean didn’t care.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Yes, Castiel Doe, D-O-E,” Castiel said into the phone, pacing in his living room. “I have two cards, a debit and a credit card—”

“ _Could you spell that first name for me, please._ ”

“Castiel, C-A-S—” Castiel turned his head, hearing a knock at the door. “T. I...” He approached the door and peered through the fish-eye peephole. He saw who was out there and stopped breathing.

“ _Sir? Is that right, Cas-ti...? Sir?_ ”

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Castiel scowled, opening the door and glaring at the stranger from the train. “It seems the culprit has _stalked_ me to my place of residence.” He hung up, gritting his teeth, body squared for a fight.

The man waggled the wallet he’d stolen, but then with the other hand, lifted a white take-out bag. “Didn’t know what you liked,” he said casually. “So I got one of everything.”

Castiel snarled, snatched his wallet, stepped back inside and slammed the door, pulling the security chain across.

Back turned, he opened the wallet and rifled through, unsurprised to see all the money gone – but his stomach dropped to his knees when he saw what else the man had stolen.

Another knock sounded on the door.

That low, rough voice came through, muffled, shaking with emotion. “ _Here, we make our futures but not much noise, we grow together with strength and poise, we care for people and our toys, at Sonny’s Home for Little Boys._ ”

Chills paraded down Castiel’s spine, his breath caught, hands frozen. He stared at nothing, memories of old wood and broken beds flashing through his vision, blanketing the sight of his dirty-yellow apartment with washes of blue and green and muddy brown. Horse tackles, baseball bats, cockroaches under the floorboards. Laughter, loss, validation; bruises on his back from play rather than abuse.

A breath flowed out of Castiel’s open mouth as he turned part-way back to the door.

“What’s your name?” he called.

“ _Dean_ ,” came the response. “ _Dean Winchester._ ”

Castiel shut his eyes. “Champion wrestler, nineteen-ninety-five.”

Dean went quiet on the other side of the door. Then he said, “ _Yeah_.”

Castiel pulled back the door chain, and let the door open. He swallowed. “Castiel Jimmy Doe. Nineteen-ninety-eight.”

“Jimmy, huh?” Dean sighed. He began to smile. “Awesome.” He sucked his lower lip, then bowed his head. “Sonny took real good care of me.”

“He took good care of everyone,” Castiel said. “I was eighteen. Sonny gave me a job.”

“What I wouldn’t give for one of those now,” Dean uttered, shifting awkwardly in place. He exhaled, then offered the take-out bag. “Look, man,” he said, as Castiel took the bag, “I’m sorry I stole what I did. Here.” He gave Castiel back his talisman, then showed off his own. “‘Most caring’, it says. I know it ain’t right, stealing, but, uh. You were wearing a suit. Looked good, smelled good. Figured you had a few hundred bucks in there, and you’d be able to swing it.”

Castiel turned his eyes down, shaking his head. “I tend to dress for where I want to be, rather than where I am. I have my fingers metaphorically crossed for a promotion.”

“For your job at the DMV,” Dean said. He shrugged when Castiel glanced at him. “I memorised your ID card.”

Castiel was surprised to hear that. Finally making a decision, he stood back from the door and invited Dean in. Dean hesitated, then accepted.

“You’re clearly smart,” Castiel said to Dean, closing the door behind him. “Why don’t you have a job?”

“Why don’t _you_ have that promotion?” Dean quipped, as Castiel put the take-out on the kitchen island. “C’mon, man, you know as well as I do, that shit’s out of my hands. I lead all my horses to water—” he gestured at himself, the close shave, the clean clothes, the polished boots, “but I can’t make ‘em drink.”

He turned to the bag, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Now would be a good time for you to make some kind of ‘hey, any way I look at you, you’re a tall glass of water to _me_ ’ remark, dude.”

Castiel hummed a laugh. “Objectively, you are an attractive man. But I doubt that’s your best selling point when it comes to employability.”

“Hey, you ain’t lived like I’ve lived,” Dean chuckled, head sideways, pulling take-out containers from the bag and lining them up. “Lookin’ fuckable gets you a long way in whatever market you’re selling in.”

Castiel was concerned by that comment.

Dean noticed his silence, and glanced up. Their eyes met. Although Castiel had never been the best judge of people’s facial expressions, or understanding an inexplicit meaning in their words, he saw an emotional strain in Dean’s eyes. That, combined with the words he’d used – they conjured knowledge that felt raw, and _vivid_ , and truly uneasy inside Castiel. How much of Dean’s struggle was in the past? How much was _now_?

Dean breathed in quickly, looking down. “Where do you keep your plates?”

“I’ll get them,” Castiel said, touching Dean’s back gently. “You... wash up. Take your shoes off.”

Dean took a moment to process that suggestion. He smiled, and nodded. “‘Kay.”

“I can’t buy you a drink,” Castiel called after him, dishing out the food, “but I suspect you using my money to buy your own dinner means _something_.”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, having found the doorway to the bathroom. He stood there for a moment, looking back. “We’re not strangers anymore.”

“Friends?” Castiel wondered.

Their eyes met across the living room.

“We’ll see,” Dean smiled. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

They sat at the little dining table under the window, chowing down on burgers and fried chicken and nuggets and wedges and fries, chickpea salad and hummus and quinoa, ketchup and catsup and chili sauce on everything; all the while sipping on Pepsi and Coke. (Dean mixed both and called it ‘Copsi’, followed by ‘Poke’.)

“These,” Castiel said, grinning against his burger, cheeks bulging, “make me... very happy.”

Dean beamed, his eyes ashine, chewing and smiling and watching Cas.

“Guesh your momh never told you’ta clozhe your mouhh while you eah, huhp,” Dean murmured, mouth full. “Mine did once, p’obahbly.”

Castiel eyed him, aching at the reminders, but unable to keep from smiling anyway. “I was raised by the state since I can remember. Nobody knows where I came from. I was found abandoned, aged three.”

“Hence the surname.”

“Hence the surname.” Castiel licked food from between his front teeth, then shrugged. “I always think about changing it but I don’t know what _to_. I made up my first name, I didn’t like being called James. As soon as I was allowed, I made ‘Castiel’ my legal first name. Sonny overheard me talking to the woman who filed my name-change forms, and he gave me his card.” He rolled a shoulder. “What about you, how did you end up at Sonny’s, all alone?”

Dean harrumphed. “Not alone. I got a brother. Younger. Name’s Sammy, he came with me. Not at first,” Dean added, head down. “First it was just me. Dad drove up to this random house in the middle of nowhere, asked me to get out and check the tires. I got out. And he drove off. Didn’t see him or my brother for six months.”

“That’s heinous!” Castiel exclaimed, lowering his burger. “What kind of father does something like that?!”

“John-fuckin’-Winchester, that’s who,” Dean said. He shifted in his seat, putting down his fries, wiping his fingers on his jeans. “I don’t really talk about him.”

Castiel took another bite, chewing slowly, waiting to be told more, even so.

“He left me,” Dean said quietly. “I mean, since Mom died, I never got much love from him, but—” Dean’s grin turned shaky, eyes glossy and fearful. “Man. There’s no better way to send a message to your fifteen-year-old kid than dumping him on some boys’-home doorstep with no goodbye, no explanation, no hint about when you’re coming back, if ever. If I ever thought he loved me – if I ever thought he beat me black-n’-blue and called me trash ‘cause he loved me, or he sent me out to hustle pool to pay for his liquor and called me useless because he loved me, or he trained me to follow his orders like a fuckin’ soldier and said I was weak ‘cause he _loved_ me... God, I’d made up a thousand love-related reasons he’d done what he did by the time I saw his car again.”

Dean gazed unseeing at the table. “After six months, I hear the Impala engine roar up Sonny’s driveway. I think it’s him. I think he’s come to get me. That last thread of hope, I’m still clinging to it, and I let it knot around my neck. It’s him, it has to be. Run downstairs, six in the morning. Throw open the front door.

“The driver gets out.” Dean sniffed, looking away. “Sammy stole the car. Eleven years old, he hot-wired a goddamn Chevy Impala and crossed state lines to see his brother. I didn’t know how. I still don’t know. I don’t think Sam even knows, I think it just happened. Lightning struck. And he stayed. Sonny kept the car. Still has it, far as I know.” Dean chuckled. “I still fantasise about going to get it. But what would I do with a car like that? Expensive as shit to run. Could build my own gold-powered rocket and it would still turn out cheaper to get replacement parts.

“That last thread of hope, Cas?” Dean laughed coolly. “Yeah, that thing snapped the moment I hugged Sammy. He was crying. I was crying. And I hoped to God that wherever he was, Dad was bawling like a baby. But even if he was, it was only because he lost the car. He never came looking. I never pried. He vanished from our lives and we were fine with that. And I learned my lesson. He said he loved me, but he didn’t. Nobody really does.”

Dean swallowed, folding his arms on the tabletop. “So,” he said, more softly now. “Cas. How is it that you and I are the same age, lived in the same place, had the same _family_ , practically, and we’re meeting _now_ , ten years later, not in rural New York, but in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania? Because I stole your _wallet_?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Is that not how random chance works?”

“Sure, yeah,” Dean nodded, turning back to his food. “But _is_ it random? Lightning don’t strike twice in the same place. Unless...?”

“Unless there’s some kind of protruding electrical conductor in a particular area,” Castiel said, confused about why Dean turned the subject to science.

“So what’s the conductor, here?” Dean asked, waving his burger back and forth between Castiel and himself. “What happens later between us that’s so important, so vital to the Earth’s timeline that history did backflips to make sure we meet? And not only meet, but have enough in common, and enough information about each other that we’re able to trust each other pretty much off the bat?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You trust me?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Buddy,” he said. “If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t have come inside. Plenty of ways a situation like this goes south. And...” He shrugged, drawing a confident breath. “There’s nothin’ about you that gets my back up. And that’s saying something.”

Castiel finished chewing, and swallowed, mulling that over. He looked out of the window at the darkening sky, then nodded. “I trust you.”

“Even after I robbed you.”

“You repaired the damage,” Castiel smiled. “So long as everything you’ve told me has been true, I can’t find any reason not to believe Sonny was right about you. You are... most caring. Thank you for the food.”

“Hey, you paid for it,” Dean muttered, glancing away.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Castiel said firmly. “Of course, it would’ve been better if I had money left to save up for rent, but—”

“Christ, I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn _stupid_.”

“Dean, no...? No.” Castiel reached across the table, hand stopping short of touching Dean’s. “You’re not. You made decent assumptions from my appearance, you simply turned out to be wrong.”

“Chuh,” Dean grinned, careless and brash. “I got a long history of bein’ wrong. Nothing new, Cas.”

Castiel gazed at him for a while. Watching him. Thinking.

“What?” Dean asked, unsettled by the staring.

Castiel shrugged. “I once changed my legal name from James to Castiel. Doing so changed me, yes. But more so, the act of _going_ to the Department of Internal Affairs Office and meeting Sonny _there_ —? That altered the entire course of my life henceforth.”

“Yeah...?”

Castiel leaned in. “Lightning struck, because I made it strike. And everything was different. So make it _strike_ , Dean. Change yourself. Take away what your father left behind.”

“Change my name?”

“Change the words you tell yourself,” Castiel explained. “You’re not stupid. He may have believed that, but I don’t.” He held Dean’s eyes. “I don’t, Dean.”

Dean started to smile. “Make lightning strike,” he said to himself. “Ka-blam!”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

As the first hour rolled into a second, Dean laughed with both hands on his stomach, barking out deep belly-laughs that broke his voice, curled his toes, loosened his limbs and reddened his freckled cheeks. He gasped for breath, propping his cheek heavily on one hand, gazing at Castiel with amazement in his expression.

“You’re looking at me,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean smiled. “It’s weird, man. Usually to get this comfortable with someone I gotta be drinking or high or expecting to get laid later on. Or all three. But you? Man.” He straightened, taking a refreshing breath. “I’m still wondering about that universe-bending future we have.”

“You’re really convinced there’s something we’re destined for,” Castiel said, amused. “What sort of thing?”

“Well, saving the world, obviously.” Dean slumped forward over the table, twirling a plastic straw around his fingertip. “You ‘n me together. Like some kind of superhero monster-slayers. Saving people. Hunting things. Somethin’ straight out of a comic book.” He hummed, thoughtful. “Me in a gothic cowboy outfit – complete with Wonder Woman’s lasso – you in that long coat you were wearing before, but black. Plus a Zorro mask. Or! Maybe we’re gonna be arch-enemies. And now you know my tragic backstory, you can reason with me when I’m about to ruin everything forever.”

“I doubt that,” Castiel said softly. “‘Most caring’ doesn’t sound like a prerequisite for an evil villain.”

“For the redeemable kind, it is.”

Unconvinced, yet tickled by Dean’s ideas, Castiel suggested another theory: “Maybe we’ll be lovers,” he said, deadpan. “We’ll have sex in every position possible, fall wildly in love, then get married and live happily ever after.”

Dean snorted. “Why’d you say that like it’s ridiculous?”

“Because is it?” Castiel harrumphed, shaking his head. “I’m about as sexual as a _rock_. I’ve never had so much as a crush.”

“Well, hey,” Dean hooked one arm onto the table, leering at Castiel. “I’ve known rocks to get pretty damn _hot_ under certain circumstances.”

“Yes,” Castiel flicked his narrowed eyes towards Dean, “I’m sure you’re quite the geologist.”

“Swallowed a penny on a dare once, pretty sure that makes me an expert.”

A rough, tumbling rumble of laughter rushed from Castiel’s throat. He was surprised to laugh, as he laughed so rarely. He cocked his head at Dean, leaning towards him. “Stop flirting with me, Dean.”

“Who said I was flirting?”

“I’ve decided you must be flirting,” Castiel said. “Or I wouldn’t feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like— Like I’m being flirted with.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to laugh again, hand on his belly, guffawing hard and shaking his shoulders. “All right,” he said, sighing, still grinning hugely. “No more flirting.”

“So you admit it, you were flirting.”

“Dude, I’ve been flirting since the moment I met you,” Dean shrugged. “Easier to pick someone’s breast pocket if they’re more concerned what their dick’s doing.”

“You sneak.”

“I’m a wretch, what’re ya gonna do about it?” Dean bit his lower lip in his grin, sitting back. He turned his arm to see his wristwatch. “Ahh, _shit_... Look, man, it’s been a good couple hours, but I gotta hit the road, like, half a hour ago.”

“Oh, no, please stay,” Castiel said, reaching across the table to hold Dean’s arm. “Just a while longer.”

“Love to, man, but I gotta get to the shelter before they shut the gates, so.” Dean stood up, stretching. “Sorry. Maybe some other time, huh?”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Wai-wai-wait,” Charlie interrupted. “The _homeless_ shelter? You were properly homeless? Like a hobo? All this time I thought you meant ‘homeless’, like, ‘between homes’. Like you were on the hunt for a new apartment and hadn’t found one yet.”

Dean sucked his lower lip, looking down. “Yeah. That was how it started, kinda. And that’s what I let most people think.”

“He worked at the shelter,” Castiel said.

“I was only volunteering so the bed was guaranteed,” Dean said. “Earned almost nothing. And all my time was spent either volunteering there, trying to find a place to sleep, or working a part-time on-demand job filling truckers’ tanks at the Gas-N-Sip. So I pickpocketed on the way to the shelter, because it was the fastest way to buy supper. ‘Course, I told Sammy I had a steady job, so he kept his student loan money and had enough for college. I always made excuses for me to head over to NYU rather than him coming to Pennsylvania during term breaks. Anyway—”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ◀ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Dean, _no_ ,” Castiel said, hurrying after Dean, snatching his boots and running back behind the couch with them. “I can’t let you stay at a _shelter_. There’s space here. There’s food here, enough leftovers for another day. You can have – I don’t know – clothes, soap, a toothbrush. Do you need a toothbrush?”

Dean stood by the door and breathed, feeling too much to express anything.

“Please stay.” Castiel calmed down, but his expression remained crestfallen. “Please. You can have the couch for the night. Or _every_ night.”

“Cas, I can’t,” Dean said quietly. “Really, I can’t.”

“Why not?” Castiel crept forward, still clinging to his hostages. “ _Why_ , Dean?”

“Because,” Dean looked him in the eye. “Firstly, I don’t wanna lose my volunteer spot to that asshole Larry. But also because... if I accept, I’m the – the-the _bird_ under your wing. I’ll owe you an unpayable debt. I’ll always feel like I’m a burden, imposing on your space, and you’ll always have one up on me. I’ll be your charity case. And... Cas, you _know_ we can’t be equals like that. We can’t be friends like that.”

Castiel swallowed, handing Dean back his shoes. Dean took them, holding them.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I understand,” Castiel said. But rather than softening, his resolve seemed to harden, and he gripped Dean’s arm. “Wait here. Don’t go _anywhere_ , give me five minutes.”

“Cas—”

“Five minutes!” Castiel rushed off through a wooden door at the side of the ugly yellow wall.

Dean waited, not sure what to do. He looked at his boots, then put them down, but didn’t put them on.

He looked around at the walls, thinking they might look better in blue. A deep blue. Blue like Cas’ eyes. Cas would look amazing with blue behind him.

Dean heard the rhythmic _chuff-chuff-chuff_ of a printer spitting out a page, with a mechanical _zweup_ at the end. Then another page. Another, another. Then the _cli-clack!_ of a handheld stapler.

Castiel jogged up to Dean and handed him a freshly-curled collection of white pages, warm as they touched Dean’s palms.

“Sign this,” Castiel said.

Dean read the heading. “Cas – is this your rent agreement—?!”

“Sign it,” Castiel said again, grabbing a pen from the back of the couch, handing it over. “There’s three weeks until the rent is due. I’ll give you those three weeks to find a job that covers half the rent, any job that isn’t illegal. And you pay for the apartment with me. You cook dinner, tidy the space, and make us both sack lunches, and I’ll pay for the groceries. Or vice versa, whatever works for you. We can alternate week by week. And we’re friends. And equals. I’ve given you nothing because you paid for it yourself.”

Dean had begun to shake. “Cas, I can’t— I can’t promise— I’ll let you down, I let everyone down—”

“Lightning never strikes twice,” Castiel said, his voice so deep and commanding that the room rang with silence as he took a breath. “But it did for you and I. Summon the lightning, Dean. Make it strike.”

Castiel stared at Dean.

Dean stared back, matching Cas’ ferocity with awe.

Dean felt electricity building in his chest. Fritzing. Buzzing. Pulsing brighter and brighter with every heartbeat, as he came closer and closer to wondering... what if this was it? What if this was his call to arms? What if he was destined to be a superhero who saved other people – but simply had to save himself first? His vision turned searing white, and all he saw was Cas.

A friend.

Dean had a friend.

He grasped the lightning bolt Castiel offered, and used it to sign the papers.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“Here’s a pillow you can use,” Castiel said, placing it atop the pile of blankets on the couch. “And now I’ll go find you that toothbrush.”

Castiel glanced around when he didn’t hear a response. “Dean?”

Dean was over by the window, gazing out at the navy-blue night, at the cityscape and all its towers of glitter and garbage. Both hands locked behind his neck, he turned to look at Cas. “If I stay here,” he said slowly, still processing, “then I don’t need to look for a bed somewhere else. Which means I don’t need to volunteer at the shelter to make sure I have a place to sleep, and something to eat. I don’t need to ride trains to steal people’s wallets. Which means...”

He drew a shaken, astounded breath. “Which means I’ll have time to find a job. And I won’t have to keep moving around all day, from the shelter to the Gas-N-Sip. Which means I can _keep_ a job. Which means... I can pay rent...”

Castiel came up to Dean. “That was the whole point, you know.”

“I-I know, but.” Dean shrugged. “Thank you.”

Castiel tipped his head, smiling.

“Oh, shit! I gotta make a call! Cas, I need to borrow your phone.”

Using the landline phone, Dean dialled his usual shelter directly, grinning. “Hey, what’s up,” he said to whoever answered. “It’s Dean. Just calling to say... I’m not gonna be in today. Hopefully not ever again.” He held Castiel’s eyes as he said that. “Give Larry my shift. And tell him...” Dean paused, then chuckled. “Tell him, if he ever gets hit by lightning, grab hold.”

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

Dean slept for three days.

Then he woke up at four a.m. and spent the day in the kitchen, cooking enough to last both him and Castiel a week.

Then he went out, got himself a job as a supermarket bag boy, got himself a small student loan only days later, and that evening, proudly announced to Castiel that he’d applied to go back to community college, intending to pick up where he left off the year before.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

“The speed at which he turned his life around, and the ferocity with which he did it inspired me to return to my own studies,” Castiel went on. “I didn’t go back to college, but I took a midwifery course, and passed. Dean and I...” They shared a warm, fond look. “We helped each other through our studies, and all the ups and downs in the meantime.”

“That first month was hell,” Dean reminded him.

“Oh, yes!” Castiel clutched at his forehead, grinning. “Oh, it was terrible. Bills! Loans! Realising how much work we needed to catch up on! And that one broken pipe in the bathroom— Dean, the _pipe_ , you remember the pipe—”

“We bickered, but we didn’t argue, not for real,” Dean said proudly, arms folded on the diner table, still smiling at Cas. “I dunno how we managed not to kill each other, ankle-deep in water and drowning in paperwork, but we did it.”

“Your determination was all that kept me from thinking I’d be homeless too,” Castiel said quietly. “And you were so _charming_ on the phone, I don’t know _how_ you convinced our landlady to pay for the water damage but—”

“I’m telling ya, bud, looking and sounding fuckable goes a long way,” Dean winked. “Following through at the weekends for a month goes even further.”

Castiel’s smile melted into an expressionless mask. “Oh.”

Charlie looked between them, watching Dean realise he’d upset Cas.

“Look, I do what I gotta do,” Dean said, avoiding eye contact. “Or... I did. That shit’s passed now. You know the rest, Charlie – I graduated with honours, Cas got a job as an on-call doula. And I coasted by on that grocery-bagging job until I got hired as an Installation Technician.”

Charlie nodded. “And you just kept climbing.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, and now my greatest accomplishment is an ice rink scoreboard that Michelangelo would _hurl_ at the sight of.”

“Oh, hush,” Charlie said, patting Dean’s arm. “I _do_ know the rest, since you were dropping by this place every other day. And now we’re besties!” She nudged Dean’s side, making him grin.

“That _is_ essentially the end,” Castiel said. “All that’s really changed is... well, Dean told me he detailed the whole story to you. How he and I... became lovers, et cetera.”

“Hey, you called it, dude,” Dean laughed, bumping Castiel’s fist with his own, then squeezing his hand. “You said we were gonna be lovers and stuff.”

“I believe I also said we would fall in love and get _married_ ,” Castiel smiled. “Clearly I’m not the world’s greatest soothsayer.”

Dean’s smile flickered and died, like a flashlight out of battery. “Yeah,” he said flatly, his dead stare stuck on Cas.

“So...” Charlie looked frantically between them, compelled to backtrack and fix whatever was suddenly breaking. “That was it? Dean stole your wallet, returned said wallet, used your own cash to buy you dinner, you swapped tragic backstories, and _that same night_ he asks you to move in? Just some homeless pickpocket off the street?”

Castiel squinted. “Is that strange?”

Charlie managed an awkward, wide grin. “Not at all.”

“Dean had the same talisman as I did,” Castiel said, retracting his hand from Dean’s fading grip. “Sonny only gives those to the trustworthy types. Even if they grow up to be pickpockets.”

Dean shrugged. “I never stole anything irreplaceable if I could help it. Soon as I saw that talisman I had to return it.”

“Anyway,” Castiel said to Charlie, “we only grew closer, more comfortable, and more trusting.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Tell me about it. What’s it been, four years? Five?”

“Seven,” Castiel corrected.

Charlie watched them both go shock-still and silent, a look of despair spreading in both their eyes as they realised how long had passed, living together, slowly falling in love and not doing anything significant about it.

Seven years.

“Well... now you’re dating,” Charlie said cautiously. “So congrats? That seems like a big change.”

“Dating?” Castiel said in alarm, as Dean blanched. “We’re dating?”

“De- _ee_ -eeann...!” Charlie cried, aghast. “You absolute fluff! The point was you _told_ him!”

Castiel spoke so softly, all his attention on Dean: “Tonight was a date? Why did you take me on a _date_?”

Dean shrugged, head down. “What else was there to do? I was out of options, it was either this or pr—” He gulped down whatever he was going to say, looking away instead, tight-jawed.

“Look,” Dean went on, glancing back at Castiel, holding his eyes. “I mean it when I say I love you, Cas. Just— I want to you _believe_ me when I say it, dude. Trust me. I _love_ you. Why can’t you understand? I’ve told you nothing but the truth since the day we met. Why would this be a lie?”

“Dean, we’ve had this conversation already,” Castiel frowned. “I don’t think you’re lying, but whatever I say, you won’t listen!”

“I listen!”

“But you won’t admit you’re projecting your own feelings onto me, saying this, will you? I’m not the _problem_ here, Dean.”

“I’m not proje— What does that even mean?!”

Charlie began to edge out of the booth, shooting panicked glances in Tara’s direction. She had a feeling an argument was about to happen, or something equally loud and emotional, and she was definitely too close to the epicentre for comfort.

Even from nearer the bar, Charlie heard Dean sigh; all her attention remained hyper-focused on that one table among all the others, and a dozen other customers.

“Cas,” Dean said, his tone brutal, “look. You know when you n’ me first got together. And you saw me with other people, and you thought ‘yeah, I want that. I want that with him’. ‘Cause you said I was the only one you trusted like that. Well, that’s me too. But with the soppy, gooey, romantic shit. You’re the only one I trust to be with me, for every day we breathe. Fuckin’ love me, and let me love you _back_ , you dipshit. God-dammit, Cas, you’re the only one I want. And for fuck’s sake, if signing a contract worked the day we met, maybe that’s what we need to do now, too. You want me to marry you? Is that what I need to do? Maybe then you’ll believe I’m gonna stick by you, and I’m not about to drop you for someone else. Not _ever_.”

Castiel could barely breathe, but Charlie saw his lips flutter, a whisper escaping them. “Yes?”

Dean snorted. “Well! Then!” He squared his shoulders, jaw gritted like a bull about to charge. “In that case?!”

He got to his feet, furious.

He palmed his forehead, trying to ease his frown. But then... he relaxed. His shoulders dropped. He gulped, and nodded to himself...

And then he got down on one knee, damp jeans on the checkered tiles, one hand reaching out to take Castiel’s, holding it.

The diner went silent, the clatters of milkshake glasses and pie plates fading, everyone holding their breath to watch and listen closely.

“Cas,” Dean said, no doubt burning under the pink lights, his blush hidden by their colour. “You told me a long time ago to let my dad’s words go. And... And I haven’t been able to. And I’m sorry. But I want to. And I _will_. And...” he drew a breath, “as a first step? I accept your unconditional love.”

A murmur of delight ran through the diner; Tara reached to hold Charlie’s arm, Charlie gripped her hand tight, shaking it in her excitement.

“Castiel Jimmy Doe,” Dean said, his voice trembling, so deep and choked with emotion that it was hard to hear. “I was your First. Will you be my Only?”

In this colourful diner, full of watching eyes and listening ears, Dean awaited Castiel’s answer with the crowd. Like Dean, Castiel knew this was a safe place, a queer space, a place of giving and sharing love in the form of sugar and support and sage advice. So it was easy for him to smile. He slipped from his seat in the booth, and knelt on the tiles with Dean, both arms wrapping behind his head.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

The diner exploded in uproar, cheers shaking the walls, boots and stilettos stomping the floor; paper straws and candy were thrown as confetti, and the rainbow lights began to sparkle and change colours as Tara switched them on and off from the wall. In the midst of the celebration, Dean and Cas shut their eyes, and kissed. Arms around each other. Kneeling with their hearts pressed close.

Outside, amidst the storm, lightning lit up the sky.

   


•·•·•·•·•· ♥ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
  


	7. Only

   


•·•·•·•·•· ▶ ·•·•·•·•·•

  
 

They’d dimmed the lights in the living room, using only the floor and table lamps, so the blue walls reflected umber. Soft gold and warm reds caressed the faces of the whole group, all gathered on Dean and Castiel’s couch and the surrounding footstools and pouffes, all happily lingering long after midnight.

The Christmas tree was still up, left sparkling as the New Year came around. Tinsel decorated the walls, and fairy lights were strung from anything protruding, like the picture frames: one with a print of Eileen’s ultrasound scan, beside Dean’s graduation certificate – and perched upright, a six-foot cardboard cutout of a friendly-looking cartoon stork, carrying a bundle from its long beak, fairy lights encircling his straw hat like a halo.

“Another round,” Dean said, eyes agleam with mirth. He poured out sparkling cranberry juice for everyone, then sat back next to Cas, raising his glass. “To ringing in the new year – with pure awesomeness!”

“To awesomeness,” the group repeated, then laughed, falling back to sip their drinks.

Castiel gave Dean’s cheek a kiss, feeling ever so light-hearted. He drank, holding Dean’s hand.

Sam caught Dean’s eye from beside Eileen, nodding in thanks. Since all Eileen drank was cranberry juice, and Dean was officially one year sober, it seemed the obvious choice for Dean to replace all the drinks in the apartment with Eileen’s favourite. It was either that or soda water, and Castiel decidedly wasn’t a fan of soda water.

Sam’s big hand rested on his wife’s swollen belly, waiting for another kick. Eileen kept her hand over Sam’s, but lifted it every so often to converse in sign language with Castiel, endlessly mid-conversation as they tried to decide where she would give birth. There was no questioning that Castiel would be the one to deliver Sam and Eileen’s baby boy, making them the first official customers for his doula business – but with only a handful of months left until the due date, there was always more and more to finalise before the big day.

Charlie and Tara still chatted beside Dean, seemingly about nothing in particular. Clearly they were soulmates; only soulmates could converse about laundry powder, flightless birds, and raisins, yet somehow impart nothing but pure love.

“Umm,” Dean said, peering down into his drink. Castiel looked up at him, and Dean properly cleared his throat to speak. “Okay. Everyone wait here, I’ll be back.”

He disappeared into his old room for a while. That room had become Castiel’s study again, returning to the purpose it had served before Dean moved in and claimed it.

“What’s he doing?” Eileen asked, hands moving swiftly.

“I’m not certain,” Castiel replied, mouthing the words as he signed. He waited for Dean to return... and when he did, Castiel huffed. “Oh, the bet.”

“Oh, the _bet_.” Eileen rolled her eyes.

“The bet?” Sam lifted his head. “Hah!”

Charlie and Dorothy went quiet, watching Dean kick the cardboard box across the room. It seemed heavy; its weight hissed against the hardwood floor, getting stuck on the fluffy rug.

“Okay,” Dean said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. He stepped past the box in his socked feet, returning to the couch to sit beside Castiel. “This box is full of mementos from _all_ the people I slept with over the course of the year. I printed photos from my phone – hey, taken with _permission_ , don’t you make that noise at me, Tara. I got hair samples, labelled and dated. Underwear. The occasional... eehh, more gross samples, let’s say – all sealed up safely. And—” he reached into the box and pulled out a fat, well-thumbed journal, planting it on his lap. “A record book of everything I did, organised by sex position – illustrated – and time elapsed. Look, I’m not expecting Sam to check it – ew, I’d rather he didn’t – but it’s all in here if he wants to take me to court over this.”

“Wow, you... _really_ took this seriously,” Sam said.

Dean scoffed. “Hey, I got a lot riding on this bet. Winner gets to pick their prize, so you bet your ass I’m taking this seriously. All-expenses-paid trip to Universal Studios for me and Cas, _hel_ -lo!”

Sam huffed around a fond smile.

“I’m ready to talk numbers,” Dean said, patting his journal. “You go first. I’m guessing you didn’t keep a record, since this lovely lady is your one-and-only, but heck, you’re a stand-up guy. Whatever you say, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Aaaahhh... All right?” Sam said, eyes darting around their audience.

“Go for it,” Eileen signed, wearing a huge grin. “We did good, Mountain Man.”

Sam chuckled. “Sooo... This year, between January first last year, and today, Eileen and I engaged in – oh _God_ , why am I saying this aloud – three-hundred-and-twenty-five individual sex acts.” He curled back into his seat, covering his face with a hand. Eileen laughed, grasping his knee and shaking it reassuringly.

“Hmh, not bad,” Dean said, nodding and pressing his lips in an arch. “Not bad, little brother.”

Castiel’s stomach began to feel tight, his attention moving from Sam to Dean. Now it was Dean’s turn to reveal his figures, Castiel wondered if he really wanted to hear. He considered getting up, going to get a drink from the kitchen – so at the very least, he didn’t need to see the smug expression arrive on Dean’s face.

Dean saw Castiel panicking, and whispered, “Hey.” He reached out to hold Castiel’s hand, squeezing him. “It’s fine, Cas.”

Castiel forced a smile. “Go on, Dean. Win your bet.” He bowed his head, waiting.

Dean wet this lips. “Okay. So! Throughout this course of this past year, from January first to December thirty-first... _I_ , Dean Winchester, engaged in individual sex acts, a total ooohhhfff... Drumroll please...”

Charlie and Tara began tapping their fingers on the couch arm, on and on and on, every passing second making Castiel’s chest ache with regret and retrospective jealousy that he wished he didn’t feel, knowing he didn’t need to feel it, as it served him no purpose. Dean was all his now. The past didn’t matter. Dean’s total lack of fidelity may have confused Castiel at the time, but Cas supposed his feelings only went on so long because he didn’t tell Dean the whole truth. Castiel held his breath and listened: the drumroll ceased.

“A-hundred-and-twenty-seven,” Dean said.

“A-hundred-and—”

“Twenty-seven,” Dean repeated. “Yup. Nearly two-hundred _fewer_ times than Sam.”

“What!” Sam explained. “How? You have this whole—?” He gestured at the journal. “And this entire—?” The box was the size of Dean’s torso. “And you had Cas! Every night for half the year! How did you not win?!”

Dean set the journal aside, palms together between his knees. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Because we stopped having sex near the end of the year. I didn’t wanna use Cas to crank up a high score. He’s not some... some _toy_ , he’s my friend.” He glanced towards Castiel, love in his gaze, responding to Castiel’s shock with a smile. “And – I’ve discounted every time I had sex with anyone who wasn’t Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, breathless. “Why?”

“What Sam did with Eileen was... whatever you wanna call it – lovemaking. Not just regular _sex_ -sex. So, by the same standard,” Dean looked at his sister-in-law, “for me it only counted when I did it with Cas.”

“Aww,” Eileen purred.

“Yeah-yeah, aww,” Sam said, frustrated, “but that wasn’t the deal, I’m not winning on a technicality. What’s the total with all the other people _and_ Cas?”

Dean pursed his lips and refused to say. “I’d win the bet if I said. But I’m not gonna.”

He turned his loving gaze towards Castiel, and a familiar warmth bled through Castiel’s system, fiery and warm and filling him up with delight.

Explaining to everyone else but looking at Castiel, Dean said, “Same night I proposed, when I told Cas I was gonna stop having sex, conceding the bet... he told me...” Dean’s expression flickered. “You said you were— Uh, what’s the word?”

“Demisexual,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, that,” Dean smiled, taking his hand and holding it. “Only gets the sexy feelings for someone if he’s already in love. Or at least real good friends. And that’s happened a grand total of once in his lifetime. I was his First and Only. But, um.” Dean cleared his throat, sheepish eyes turned to Charlie, then to the floor. “Cas here is more about the pillow-talk and the snuggles than the sex, as it turns out. And—” Dean flicked his eyes to the ceiling, despairingly amused, “I’m weirdly okay with that, God help me.”

“So, wait, no sex?” Charlie leaned closer. “Never?”

Castiel assured her, “Mmmaybe sometimes. Because sometimes I do _want_ to. It’s a lot of fun, and I enjoy it enormously. Just... not every night. Please. It’s so _much_. And so _unnecessary_.”

Dean laughed with everyone else, as Castiel tried to figure out why his statement was funny.

Dean waggled their interlocked fingers, then leaned to nudge Castiel’s side. “My little ace.”

“You know what’s most impressive,” Eileen said, drawing everyone’s attention. She smiled, tucking her brown hair behind her ears. “Dean managed to woo someone non-sexual into bed over a _hundred_ times. And Cas,” she patted his knee, “you got this sex fiend with an addictive personality to swear off booze, _and_ sex, and made him _happy_ about it.”

“He ain’t swearing me off food, though,” Dean remarked, “so he only beasted two outta three from my personal feel-good trifecta. I’m still good. Food’s the best one by far. One of the greatest pleasures in life. Besides, y’know, letting my little brother win occasionally.”

As the others chuckled, Dean and Castiel shared another nice, affectionate moment.

“So I win,” Sam declared, bright-eyed and brimming with anticipation. “And Eileen and I decided what I get.”

“Oh, boy,” Dean sighed, turning in his seat to await the reveal.

“You say,” Sam urged Eileen.

Eileen pressed her palms together, fingertips on her lips to keep back her exclamation. She took a breath, and finally, she looked Dean in the eyes and said: “When our son is born, he calls you ‘Yankee Doodle Dean’.”

Dean blinked. “He calls me what-now?”

“Yankee Doodle,” Sam grinned. “Like the song, Yankee Doodle. _Yankee Doodle went to town – Riding on a pony – Stuck a feather in his cap – And called it macaroni—_ ”

“Ye-ye-ye-yeah, I know the song,” Dean grunted. “Fine, I’ll take it, you crazy people. And joke’s on you, anyway, ‘cause it sounds kinda cowboy-esque, and I’m totally into that. So suck it.”

Eileen and Sam high-fived.

“I cannot believe,” Dean despaired, hands over his eyes, “that _that’s_ the thing you wanted most from me. This entire year.”

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “We already get everything we need from you.” He placed his hand on Eileen’s pregnant belly, and assured Dean, “This kid’s gonna grow up with the best uncle. And the greatest family.” Sam looked around. “Really. Charlie, Tara, you too. There’s nothing about this, about all of _you_ that I would’ve imagined could be real, as a kid growing up with a dad like ours. Dean— Every person here, you brought them into my life. We saved up all year to get you that trip to Universal Studios, okay. Eileen and I both fully expected you to win. And you deserve the money regardless. Take it, Dean. Take Cas to Orlando for your honeymoon.”

“Heyy, nah, you save that cash for your son,” Dean smiled. “C’mon. With you two as parents, this kid’s gonna be bilingual by the time he’s two, and he’s gonna need that college fund started early. Gonna...” Dean let out a soft laugh, head down. “Gonna grow up to be a good little boy. ‘Most hopeful’, just like Sam. A real dreamer. And, uh. Most reliable. Like his Uncle Cas. And most caring— Like his _god_ damn Yankee Doodle Dean.”

Everyone burst out laughing, disarmed by hearing Dean say that combination of words. How ridiculous.

As the laughter settled, Castiel noticed Dean’s fingers playing with his engagement ring, turning it around his finger.

Castiel slipped his left hand into Dean’s, holding on. Their rings touched, clinking gently.

“Let’s go get that car,” Dean muttered, as the others talked amongst themselves. “How ‘bout it, Cas? You, me, the Impala. Honeymoon road trip. Maybe we’ll head to Florida ourselves.”

“Hm-hm, I shall look forward to that,” Castiel smiled. “I suppose we _can_ afford a real car now, at long last. And _roller-coasters_! No such thing as too many. So long as they’re safe, and fun, and make you feel good – I believe those were your rules?”

Dean looked adoringly at Castiel, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “God, we’ve come so far,” he whispered. “Moved in the day we met? Then seven years, Cas. _Seven_ , can you believe it? And then our first date – I _proposed_. Damn. We really figured out how to harness that lightning, huh. The strikes are few and far between, sure, but when it happens...?”

Castiel leaned in to give him a kiss. “Ka-blam.”

Dean kissed him back. “Ka-blam.”

After a long, soft kiss, Dean glanced over at Charlie, who looked away from Tara to smile back. Dean shot her a wink.

“I keep meaning to tell you thanks,” Dean said to her. “Like, really _say_ it. I mean, all problems, big or small, Charlie, you’d find a way to fix ‘em. Even if it’s... reminding me how I met Cas. Helping me remember what he said about my dad’s bullshit all those years ago, makin’ me realise how little I’d changed – and how badly I still needed to. Shit, I would’ve chickened out of proposing if you hadn’t asked us to tell you that story.”

“Cool.” Charlie smiled, content to know she’d helped. “But to be fair, Dean, I told you to _date_ him, not propose to him. That lightning-grab was all yours.”

“Hey, I don’t go halves,” Dean grinned.

“But you’re welcome,” Charlie said. She caught Castiel’s gaze, and grinned.

Quietly, Dean supposed that like Charlie, Cas had fixed a whole lot too, just by sticking around when the going got tough. From broken pipes to ice rink scoreboards, one drink on a bad night; broken minds or broken hearts; Cas had been there and he’d helped Dean power through the worst stuff, and get to a point beyond where he’d started. Somehow, in all of that, Cas had been inspired to make himself do better, making major life changes parallel to Dean’s. And Dean had stood by him too, without even questioning it.

Maybe another seven years would pass before they harnessed their next lightning strike. But when it came, Dean would be there. And he’d help Cas to grab hold, and together, they’d see where that bolt of hardcore fate would lead them.

   


**{ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that~!!
> 
> If you liked this, you'd probably like the majority of my other fics. Here's [all the dirty ones](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brating_ids%5D%5B%5D=13&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi), and [here's all the most recent ones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works) (of which there will soon be many more!! [Click *here* and hit "subscribe" if you wanna be kept updated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/).)
> 
>  
> 
> [♥ art & fic masterpost on tumblr](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/183015385385/deancaspinefest-first-and-only-nc-17-35782)  
> [♥ reblog fic (start of story)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/183711632480/first-and-only)


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